


Time Travel Laws and Middle Earth: an Exploration by Someone not Remotely Qualified

by Yeetle_Beetle



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Biology, Dubious Science, F/M, Gandalf Meddles, Humor, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pretty much everyone else is here, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Time Shenanigans, Yeah its one of those, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29530821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetle_Beetle/pseuds/Yeetle_Beetle
Summary: When Pat Mellgrove goes on a day hike in the foothills of the Alaska Range, she doesn't expect to go anywhere but up and down the mountain.  Instead, she finds herself lost in a strange forest, a strange land, right on the verge of a very famous conflict.  When she hits Rivendell, she knows she's in some deep shit.  Join Pat and all your favs as she navigates the exploration of a new world and the implications of her actions in a pre-determined story.  I don't know what I'm doing.Full disclaimer, I've seen the movies once, never read the book, please excuse all timeline errors, I'm doing my best.  And yeah, I love MGIME, so sue me.  Enjoy :)
Relationships: Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Original Female Character(s), Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 15
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, so this is my first fic that takes place in an actual fandom so I'm kinda nervous. Also, this is one I'm not super familiar with, and with such deep lore, idk why I started with this one. Glutton for punishment maybe. In any case, please be kind, and this will likely update slow. I hope y'all like it. Also, please take any and all survival information with a grain of salt. I did no research and all of this is from personal experience and my dad's constant (but well meaning) lectures. Be safe and prepared outdoors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn girl u lost

The trail stretched on ahead of her, but it was getting late, and the sun was going to go down soon. Reluctantly, Pat made a note on her map and turned to go back the way she’d come. Some other time, she told herself, she would overnight this trail. She picked her way back down the alpine tundra, eyes flicking back and forth between taking in the beautiful view from the ridge and the ground, trying not to take a header. A few more weeks and the wild blueberries would be ripe, and she could come back with containers and pick while she walked. 

Finally, Pat descended below the treeline again, losing the huge, open sky to the scrubby black spruce and taller trees that crowded close to the trail. She walked along for a while, noting various colorful mushrooms along the path that had sprung up in the recent rains, a spot under a root where some animal had made its burrow, a pile of spruce seeds under a tree, clearly the leavings of a squirrel nest. It was only when she bent closer to look at a weird patch of moss that she realized that she even had to bend closer was that it was actually getting darker out.

She shot up from her crouched position, the first seeds of anxiety rooting in her belly. She should have reached the trailhead by now. A while back, actually. Had she taken a wrong turn? She was still on the path, and nothing on the informational plaque or her map had said anything about side trails. Swallowing down her nerves, Pat turned back around, made  _ very _ sure she was indeed on the trail, and slowly made her way back along the way she’d come, all the while casting nervous glances at the sky, watching as the sun sank lower, and the forest darkened around her. 

Pat walked for a good half hour, carefully watching her feet, making sure she didn’t step off the trail. It was clear and well-travelled. It wouldn’t have been easy to lose it. But somehow, she was lost. Finally, the sun had completely vanished below the ridge, and it was almost completely dark.  _ Now, _ it would be stupid to keep going, be  _ really _ easy to stumble off the trail in the dark. There was a large spruce tree, right off the trail, where the boughs would keep any rain that might fall off her in the night. She sat down on the carpet of fallen needles, heaved a shaky breath, and took stock.

She had packed for the worst, or at least ‘the worst’ that she could have on a day hike. A sweater, full raingear, a lunch (now eaten) and extra granola bars, two liters of water, toilet paper and hand sanitizer, a can of bear mace, her field notebook and pens and pencils, phone (no cell service though), map and compass, and her wallet. (At least they’d be able to identify her corpse, she thought wryly.) In her jacket pocket, she had a cool rock she had found, her car keys, earbuds and multitool. Well, at least she had a knife. Pat put on the sweater and raingear and prepared to wait out the night. She still had a liter of water and three granola bars. She had work tomorrow, someone would notice her absence at least, and she hadn’t been  _ that _ far from the trailhead. When she’d walked back, she could see the parking lot from one of the ridges when she’d been up high. Yes. That’s what she’d do. Pat curled into a tight ball, trying to conserve heat. Tomorrow she would hike back to higher ground, locate the parking lot, or at least the road, and make for it. It would suck, but she could do it. She spread the light windbreaker she’d worn for most of the day under her, to insulate her just a little from the ground, and reminded herself that it was good this had happened in early August insead of September. 

~~~~~~~~

Surprising nobody, (not that there was anyone else  _ too _ surprise) Pat didn’t get much sleep. Any sleep actually. The ground was hard and cold, and the spruce needles were poking through her windbreaker. The ambient noises of the woods around her spooked her into making her own noise, talking into the dark to dissuade anything from wandering too close (this wasn’t an area notorious for bears, but this was a place they’d sure like. And a moose would also fuck her up, too.) Occasionally, Pat would think she’d hear something, and freeze, staying stock still, even stopping her breathing, listening for something,  _ anything. _ After five minutes of silence, she would tentatively go back to her steady chatter, anything to pass the time. 

When the faintest hints of light peeked through the trees, Pat was exhausted, dead-eyed, and hungry. She’d broken down and eaten a granola bar during the night, determined to save the other two for her day of walking. After relieving herself in the bushes, she packed everything into her backpack again, and set off along the trail once more. Only it didn’t go up. Somehow, it was just trees. 

Pat hiked for over two hours, and there was no steady incline that would lead her above the trees. At this point, Pat was not only confused, she was  _ really fucking pissed _ too. This did not male any sense. A whole-ass mountain didn’t just  _ disappear! _ This was supposed to be the foothills of the Alaska Range, where the fuck did it go? Her stomach was in knots at this point, snarled with hunger and writhing with worry. Now she wasn’t just ‘ _ oops, lost the trail, I’ll find my way back, _ ’ she was ‘ _ I am lost in the wilderness with no food, no gear, in a place that doesn’t make any goddamn sense. _ ’ This added an extra degree of urgency. Seeing this, Pat though it was justified that she sat down and cried hysterically for half an hour. Then she drank some water to replace what she’d just lost. And then started worrying again because  _ oh god she only had half a bottle left. _

Pat tried not to let herself freak out anymore. Okay, what had Girl Scouts taught her? Stay in place and wait for rescue. Seemed unlikely at this point, since she seemed to be missing the landmark (e.i. the fucking mountain) where she had told people she’d be hiking, but whatever. Moving would waste energy she couldn’t afford to lose. Next order of business, shelter. Exposure would kill her before water would. 

Over the next hour, Pat managed to build a survival shelter, one long branch propped up with two shorter branches on one end, covered with branches and leaf litter, with the floor padded with spruce boughs to give her some insulation from the ground. She put her windbreaker down over it for good measure. Next, she put her dubious tree-climbing skills to the test and scaled the sturdiest, tallest tree next to her little shelter. She’d cut the hood off her windbreaker (it seemed like the best garment to sacrifice) and had that stuffed in her pocket. When she reached as high as she could safely go, Pat looked at the miles of thick forest around her. Nothing, zip, nada, but endless trees. She tied the scrap of bright red windbreaker to the branches, hoping desperately that someone would see it. Pat made one last scan of the surrounding forest (where the  _ fuck _ had the goddamn mountains gone???) when she saw it. A plume of smoke rising in the distance, miles away.

Her heart was in her throat. She scrambled down the tree as quickly and as safely as possible, grabbed her compass out of her pack and was right back up the tree, quick before the smoke shifted in the wind. Pat sat in the crook of the same branch she had before, and oriented her body so she faced the smoke, letting the compass center on North. She marked where the little arrow pointed with a pen on the plastic casing. There. Now all she had to do was keep North facing that direction, and she’d be on the right path. 

Pat scrambled down the tree again, giddy with excitement. She shoved everything into her backpack with little care and marched into the trees, not giving a passing glance as she left the trail behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I had to really think to remember how a compass works


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, an elf.

Patricia Mellgrove walked through the morning, past noon, and into the afternoon. Her feet ached in her boots, but she was glad she hadn’t gone with her heaviest boots when she’d set out yesterday. They were made for more rocky ground, not flat forest ground. The hiking shoes she wore now were made for day hikes, and were definitely more comfortable for this terrain.

Pat was also horribly hungry. She hedged her bets and ate her remaining granola bars, hoping whoever had fire also had food, but at this point, had missed three meals and she was burning a lot of calories walking this much, climbing over roots and fallen trees. She was still saving the last of her water, and was keeping an eye out for any sources that might be safe(ish) to drink. 

So, she slogged on through the woods, keeping North aligned with the tick mark she’d made and keeping an eye on the weather. She periodically checked her phone, for cell service and the time (no luck with the former, not to her surprise) and it was just past three in the afternoon when the man on horseback emerged from the trees.

Pat had been making a fair amount of noise, not bothering to be graceful as she shoved her way through a thicket of willow, and was singing the same three verses to ‘American Pie’ (they were the only ones she could remember) under her breath. So sue her if she didn’t hear a large horse coming through the brush at her, and her loud yelp of surprise was quite justified, thank you very much. 

The horse was tall and slim, clearly bred for maneuvering through trees, and a pale cream color. The man astride the horse was in a similar theme, with smooth nut brown skin, long silvery white hair, wearing earthy green and brown clothing and bright metal armor with what looked to be a bow over one shoulder and a sword on his hip. He looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me!” Pat said, one hand over her beating heart, but looked back up at him, grinning. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you! I was so worried I was really lost. This is gonna sound kinda stupid, but where are we? Because I kind of lost the Alaska Range somehow.” She stepped a little closer to him, still on cloud nine that she  _ wasn’t  _ going to die horribly and slowly of exposure or thirst, but the horse stepped nervously back a few paces, and the man frowned and put a hand on the hilt of the sword. Which Pat now noticed looked  _ very _ real and  _ very _ sharp. “Oh, woah, okay. Sorry, I’m just lost.” She raised her hands and took a step back, and took another look at the guy’s attire. “So, uh, you guys into some pretty serious LARPing then?”

The man just frowned some more, and Pat noticed upon further inspection that he didn’t really look real. His face was too smooth, the eyes too large and the cheekbones just out of place enough to hit the Uncanny Valley. And his ears were pointed. And when he opened his mouth, she definitely didn’t recognise the language that came out. He said something sharply, but she had no idea what. When she didn’t answer, he spat out another string of weird, flowing syllables, that again, was gibberish to her.

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” she said, shaking her head, and shrugging to try to convey it nonverbally. He still looked pretty on edge, so she took another step back and showed him her hands, so he could see she wasn’t holding anything. But she remained very aware of the multi-tool in her back pocket if he tried anything.

The man lifted his chin impetuously and said something in yet another language, that was still unfamiliar to her. When Pat frowned and shrugged again, he pulled a face that still didn’t retract from how weirdly smooth his skin was and said something else, in yet another language. When he got the same reaction, he frowned more heavily at her. “Hey, I’m just as confused as you are, bud,” she said.

“Um, you can’t understand this, but I kind of need help. I’m really fucking lost and I’m really hungry and thirsty. Look, water.” Pat pulled out her water bottle, the last few inches of water splashing as she shook it visible through the clear plastic. The man had stiffened when she’d reached back for it, but leaned forward curiously at the sight of the bottle. His brow wrinkled further, a look of confusion on his face. “Water? To drink?” she said again, shaking the bottle for emphasis. His expression stayed the same, but he leaned upright again in the saddle and produced what looked like an old-timey drinking bag, like an animal bladder or something. Okay, they were  _ really  _ hardcore LARPers or she had gotten way more lost than previously imagined. Still, Pat accepted the skin and awkwardly cradled the bag of liquid and managed to get a drink. It was cool, crisp water that tasted a little weird, likely from the container, but so, so good.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling extra big and nodding as she handed it back to him. He still frowned at her, and said something in the first language he’d spoken in, and gestured in the direction he had emerged from, towards where the smoke had been. “Oh! Yes, of course. I was headed the same way.” Pat nodded and smiled some more, and allowed herself to be shepherded through the trees. Thankfully, the man hadn’t gotten out either the sword or the bow, though he kept his hands near them. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, and noticed that he did the same. They walked through the trees for a time, him still on horseback, her still pushing her way through the brush that began to thin out as they went.

Over time, she began to see signs of life, of... settlement? At first, it was just little footpaths, scattered stretches of them here and there. Then a larger one, enough for a person. Then this one joined a larger one, then an even larger one, until they walked along a road, wide enough for three horses to walk abreast. Slowly, little buildings, tilled and tended patches of crops began to appear as well. By the time they joined the road, there were houses large enough to hold a small family, and other people, also with smooth, alien skin and pointed ears. They gave her a wide berth and flicked curious glances to the rider accompanying her. He seemed only to nod reassuringly, and sometimes say a few words, and they continued on their way, unmolested. Sometimes, little pointy-eared children peeked out from behind their parent’s legs and gazed, curious and wide-eyed at her. Pat tried to smile, and wave shyly, but they just stared back. The more they walked, the more Pat got the uneasy feeling she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Or more accurately, the Earth she remembered. 

Everyone here wore the same medieval, role-playing-type wear, only she didn’t think it was role playing. It looked well-made, authentic and built to last, like they worked and lived in it every day. Sure, it could have been a weird prepper-live-off-the-land community, but they didn’t look human enough, unless they all had the same set of genetic markers. Which seemed very unlikely, but so did the idea that she might not be on Earth anymore.

They walked for another fifteen minutes, the houses and shops becoming more common and more elaborate, until they were in a fully fledged city with beautiful, sweeping architecture, high halls and vaulted arches. It almost reminded Pat of the gothic style, but cleaner and more graceful. Finally, they seemed to reach their destination. They came to a beautiful estate, surrounded on all sides by towering trees, sunlight filtering through the branches. It was gated, and two men, similarly dressed as the guy who’d found her, gave her a confused look and exchanged words with her guide. Eventually, they opened the gates and let them in. One of the door guards followed them in. They stopped by a stable where they dropped off the horse, and then she was led into the beautiful hall.

Everything was made out of marble or bright, pale wood that shone with polish. Greenery was everywhere and the very air seemed to sparkle. Maybe that was just the hunger kicking in, though. Pat was led through the halls, past sculptures and frescos, depicting unknown scenes and people. It was all incredibly beautiful, whoever lived here had to be important. Anxiety settled in her gut once more. Her guide had seemed wary of her when he’d first seen her, and everyone she’d seen since had looked at her like an intruder. These people might not be her salvation after all. She nervously fingered the multi-tool in her pocket. The fact that her guide stayed behind her and the new guard led the way, the two of them flanking her didn’t give her much comfort either.

Finally, they came to a huge wooden door, intricately carved with all sorts of flowers, plants and scenes of people reading and studying. When they stepped into the room, it looked like a large, lavish study, filled with bookshelves, a desk, and other such things. There was a man sitting at the desk, and he looked up as they entered. He was tall and thin, pale with long, straight brown hair and a rather severe brow. He was dressed in fine robes, beautifully embroidered and thick weave. Pat’s guide said something, the finely dressed man said something back, then he turned to her. He made a little bow, spat out another string of gibberish, then said something she actually recognised.  _ “Imladris.” _

No. But that couldn’t be. But these people did look like elves. But that would mean? “Imladris? Here?” she pointed at her surroundings. When he nodded, Pat’s eyes widened. “There’s no way. I’m hallucinating. Is this Middle Earth? Or, uh, what do you call it, Arda?”

“Ah!” the finely dressed man said, brightening at the word, “Arda!” Something, something, “Imladris,” something, something. Pat frowned and shrugged some more, trying to convey she didn’t understand. Fancy Man’s face fell, and Pat echoed that feeling. Still, he seemed to push ahead, and gestured to himself,  _ something, something  _ “Elrond.”  _ No. _ While Pat wasn’t the biggest fan of the Lord of the Rings, she knew enough to know that this guy was a big deal. “Holy cow,” she said, then realized he was likely still waiting for her name. “Uh, Patricia- Pat. I’m Pat,” pointing to herself. Elrond (!!!) nodded and repeated her name, pointing to her for clarification. When she nodded, he went around the room, pointing at each of them in turn. “Pat, Elrond, Estrilon,” pointing last at the man who had found her. She repeated him, pointing and naming. After that, the room fell silent, until her stomach let out a long, loud grumble, audible even to the others. 

“Sorry,” she said, sheepishly, “I don’t mean to be rude, but do you have anything to eat? Please?” She laid a hand on her stomach to emphasize this. Fancy Man laughed lightly, and said something to her guide, who nodded, bowed slightly and ushered her out of the room. She was eventually led to a large,open seating area on a balcony, overlooking a deep gouge in the ground, a waterfall tumbling into one end of it, the river carving its way through the rest of it. There, she was seated at a table where a  _ very _ pretty woman brought out a large plate of bread, sliced meats and cheeses, along with water and a dark red liquid she figured was wine. Patricia Mellgrove sat and ate her fill, taking in the view of the mist rising from the waterfall, the setting sun and the beautiful valley of Rivendell, and wondered how the hell she’d gotten into this, and how she’d get out of it.

~~~~~~

Estrilon did not trust the woman,  _ Pat _ (and what a strange name that was) he’d found on patrol. These were dark times, and the Men did not often let their women wander during peaceful ages, much less now. Perhaps she was a spy for the Dark Lord, or if not that, then just a neerdowell, or travelling thief, simply looking for her next victim. But, he reasoned, she did not look like any of those things. She was dressed very strangely, in any case. Very tight, black trousers, of a strange material from what he’d seen, a strange style of garment on top, a type of pullover tunic, but it was too short to be a true tunic, and it had a hood at the back, and what looked to be a single, large pocket on the front. The pack she carried was also of strange material, with many straps and buckles. The bottle she had procured seemed odd as well. It was a clear blue, and looked to be glass, but why she would bring a glass drinking bottle so far into the wilderness was beyond him.

And another thing! (This is what made him most suspicious) She was clearly lacking in food and water, not dressed for any weather, and her pack was not nearly large enough to make the trek from the nearest Mannish settlement to Imladris. How she managed to get as far as she did into the woods surrounding the last Homely House was a mystery. It should not have been possible. However, it did not seem she spoke any of the languages he was familiar with, even Common, which nearly all Men that he knew of spoke. It would not be very useful of a spy not to know what their quarry was saying.

Lord Elrond had believed the same, but he too, thought it very odd that she spoke not a lick of Sindar, or Common, and only seemed to recognise the names  _ Imladris _ and  _ Arda _ . Strange indeed! Still, she seemed intelligent, and not overtly inclined to make trouble. He had seen her try to wave at a few small elflings they had passed on their way to Lord Elrond’s hall, which he wasn’t sure what to think of. 

He watched her devour the plate of food a maid had brought for her, and took note of her odd style once again. Her hair was cut very short, by elleth’s standards certainly, but even by Mannish custom, women wore their hair long. Her hair fell to just below her earlobes, a dark honey gold, almost brown in messy waves. He caught a glint of some jewelry in her ears (perhaps stolen? Or was she from noble birth?) and though spectacles were not common among elleths, wealthy Men sometimes needed them in their later years. However, this woman, still almost a girl, really, was not in her later years, and wore large, round lenses set in very finely crafted frames. This wanderer was truly a bundle of inconsistencies, and Estrilon was going to get to the bottom of it.

The woman had polished off the food in short order now gazed out at the valley spreading out below the balcony, seemingly in awe. He suppressed a sniff of disdain; at least she was properly appreciative. Lord Elrond had instructed that the traveler be given one of the guest rooms, and a handmaid to guide her. Though the courtesy was offered to every traveler that came through, Estrilon found himself disliking that she was given the same treatment. Something about her made him suspicious, something he couldn’t quite place. Ah well, at least she seemed to be finished eating. Lord Elrond had asked that he show her to her rooms and introduce the elleth who would be her guide. Then he may be free of her.

Estrilon stepped away from the pillar where he had been hovering and moved to stand at her back. He cleared his throat and it gave him no small amount of pleasure to see her jump in surprise. Not very observant of her surroundings, then, for a spy. Still, he bit back the smile at her reaction and said, even knowing she wouldn’t understand, “Lady, ah-  _ Pat, _ I will show you to your room. I’m sure you must be tired and would like to rest. And I may be rid of you.” He outstretched a hand to show her the way. She seemed to understand, or at least grasp that he was leading her somewhere, and nodded and stepped away from the balcony. He led her through the vast halls of Elrond’s house, until he came upon the room the Lord had set aside. Estrilon opened the door, showed her in, closed it, and breathed a sigh of relief. Something about her unsettled him. She did not seem to fit somehow. 

However, it was not his problem any longer. Estrilon had a long patrol even before he had found the woman and he was ready for a meal and a bed himself. He strode down the hallway, nodding to the handmaid coming down the opposite way, likely the elleth assigned to their visitor. Better her than me, he thought.

~~~~~

To say Pat was nervous would be incorrect. The closest word that she could put a finger on was confused and worried. It seemed like, from this very nice room and the food she’d been given, that they were going to be nice to her. Which was good! When they had walked into the city, and she had garnered such looks from everyone they passed, she had been worried they would throw her into a dungeon or something. And then the excited kid inside her had been over the moon at being in a real life fantasy world and meeting elves and magic and all that. But now, the rational adult part of her brain was kicking back in, and realizing that she was kind of fucked.

She was stuck, with no clear way to return, and no clear idea of how she’d gotten here, in a foreign world with an entire new species of people, and no language skills. Aw shit, she was going to have to learn an entire new language, just to be understood. Pat sat down on the bed, surprisingly soft for the middle ages technology the books were set in, but, she reasoned, these were fucking elves, superior craftsmenship, yada yada yada, and put her head in her hands. How the hell did she get into this, and how the hell did she get out of this. She sighed. Just for shits and giggles, she pulled out her phone and checked for cell service. Nothing, as she’d expected. The battery was at 64% and she shut it down to preserve as much charge as possible. To what end, who knows, but why the hell not. Pat considered wallowing in her misery for a little longer when the door swung open.

The woman who entered was, like everyone else here, otherworldly beautiful, but not in a warm way. The Uncanny Valley was still there, but when she smiled and slightly bowed, it helped ease some of the initial warryness. “ _ Mae g’voannen! _ _ Im am Undiom,  _ _ Im am na n- cín guide. _ ” Pat must have looked confused, because the woman smiled and shook her head, and repeated, “ _ Im am Undiom, _ ” pointing to herself, then to Pat, “ _ a cin are? _ ” 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I’m Pat. Or, uh  _ Im am Pat? _ ” Undiom beamed, and God, it was like looking into the sun, “ _ Man! _ ” and then began talking rapid fire, moving quickly about the room, pulling aside curtains from the window, letting the golden setting sun through the warped glass, setting up what looked like a changing screen in the corner, and Pat just stood there, awkwardly, trying to decide if she should be doing anything to help. Undiom seemed to notice her hovering and had her sit down again, only to exclaim like she remembered something she’d forgot, and pull her to her feet again. Pat watched as Undiom gathered up several bottles and a long dress and pulled her out into the hall. The two of them walked down the long hallway, Undiom still chattering away, glancing back every so often to smile at Pat. She found herself smiling back, and even laughing along with her. The elf’s attitude was just so cheery, it was easy to get over the initial apprehension. 

At last, they came before a large stone door, with a word carved into it. Pat had no idea what that meant, but it became clear enough when Undiom pulled it open and led her inside. It was a beautiful bath chamber, the air heavy with steam and scented oils, hazy in the light streaming in from the fogged glass skylight. Immediately, Pat felt enormously out of place. Though everyone here was a woman, she seemed to be the only human. (This was becoming a common theme, it would appear.) As such, when she walked through the doorway, all the heads that rose up to greet Undiom swept quickly over to her instead. The low murmur of conversation stopped, and all eyes were on her. Undiom, who was quickly becoming Pat’s favorite person ever said something to the room, with her name in the mix, and the ladies quickly went back to their bathing, though she did notice many of them shooting surreptitious glances their way. 

Undiom began to undress, first removing the delicately embroidered overdress, then a stiff tank top looking garment that laced in the back, some form of corset maybe? Under that was what looked to be a chemise layer and light, billowy cotton underwear. Pat shrugged, and began pulling off her own layers. Undiom was giving her clothing the same curious looks Pat had given hers, and she tried not to blush under the scrutiny of their gazes. Pat felt very exposed as she stepped into the steaming water. Were all elves just really skinny and fine-boned or just the ones that lived here? They didn’t look to be starving or malnourished, so maybe elves were just built differently. After all, they seemed to be an entirely different species. 

Pat was hugly glad to submerge herself under the water, where she could hide at least a little. This, at least, was fairly self explanatory. As she washed, her thoughts wandered to human evolution, and what might cause elves to be different. Humans hips were so wide because a baby with a large head had to fit through them, and the increased size of a human baby’s brains was what made childbirth so dangerous. It was literally that too large a brain couldn’t fit through the hips. Maybe elf babies were just smaller. Undiom handed Pat some of the bottles she’d brought from her room, and pointed that they were for her hair. Pat scrubbed at her skin with a rough cloth, glad to be clean, though her two day adventure hadn’t worked up too much of a funk. 

After a few minutes, some of the other ladies tentatively came up to them, greeted Pat carefully, but spent most of the time talking to Undiom. It was clear they were talking about her sometimes, though, as their eyes flicked over her several times during the conversation. But they didn’t seem to be rude about it, thankfully, mostly curious. Which was fair, in their place, Pat would be curious as hell. In any case, the bath was incredible. How the water was heated, Pat didn’t know, but it was the perfect temperature, the pools were carved so the water was about up to her collarbones and it was overall incredibly idyllic. The only thing missing was ethereal harp music in the background. 

Eventually, they both finished bathing and Undiom finished talking to her friends, and they got out and dried off with towels sitting in a row of shelves on the wall. Then Undiom helped Pat into the dress she’d brought from her room. She’d thought ahead and also brought the chemise and corset-layer too. Her old clothing, she’d learned through a series of complicated hand gestures and pantomiming, would be washed and returned to her. Her shoes, spattered with mud and needles, did  _ not _ go with the light, flowing dress Undiom had brought, were replaced by a pair of slippers a little loose in the heel. Undiom had to help her tighten the laces, but the corset-thing didn’t really compress her waist, but the stiff, canvas-like fabric just held everything in place and kept her chest from moving around so much. The overdress was beautiful, if a little long, and Pat was sure she would be tripping over the hem throughout the day. She just carried her hiking shoes with her. They left the baths, Undiom waving at her friends as they left and returned to Pat’s room.

By the time they got back, the sun had set and the chamber was lit with little flickering lanterns. Undiom helped Pat turn down the blankets on the bed, and she bid Pat what she assumed as a good night before slipping out of the room. So Pat was left where she had been before, sitting on the edge of the bed, wondering how the hell she’d gotten here. Long term, she had no idea what to do, what her life would look like now, and she just barely thought about how the chances of her going home were  _ very _ slim. This, she reasoned, was probably not something that happened very often, considering she’d never heard of this before and fucking trans-dimentional travel or whatever had happened was not a known phenomena. The fact that it had happened once was incredible. The chances of it happening again? Infinitesimal. So, that left the short term. Pat sighed. She hadn’t slept in 48 hours so getting a full night’s rest was looking really appealing. And tomorrow? Try to learn the fucking language I guess. Pat slipped under the covers, put her head down on the feather pillow, and passed the fuck out.

~~~~~

Elrond received the human woman in his study just after breakfast. Undiom, one of the more cheerful elleths on his staff, had clearly been a good choice. The maid was chattering away to the woman in such a pleasing tone that even though she would not have understood a word, she was smiling and nodding anyway. “-and he was so smitten! Biriel was flattered, of course, but there was no way she could go riding with him, she had already promised to go with Gandolar! And- oh! My Lord, Lady Pat.” She suddenly noticed they had entered his study and he stood watching them with an amused smile. Undiom bowed slightly, and left the room, but not before reassuring her charge, “Do not worry, I will be back. You are in fine hands, Lord Elrond is very kind.” Pat seemed to smile, a little unsure, but waved to Undiom as she closed the door behind her.

Elrond turned to Pat. “Now. We must try to get things straight.” He pulled out a map of the world and spread it on the desk before him. “We are here,” he pointed to Imladris, and gestured to their surroundings, “Imladris.” Pat nodded, and pointed to the same spot on the map. “Imladris,” she repeated. 

“Excellent. Now, where on this map are you from.” He pointed to her, and then spread his hands over the paper, asking where. She peered over the map, but shook her head, no. He frowned, then tried again. “In this area? Perhaps this one, by the sea? Over the mountains?” He waved his hand over each section. She just shook her head again, and gestured to the whole map, shoving it to the side. He frowned some more, not really sure where this was going. She mimed a paper and pen. Elrond nodded, perhaps she could show another way where she was from. He placed a sheet of fresh paper on the desk in front of her, and pen and ink. Oddly, the pen seemed to flumox her at first, and the first few lines she made were messy with pooled ink, broken where the pressure hadn’t been right. Eventually, though, he watched in wonder as she drew an entirely new world map, with continents and land he had never seen before. Towards the top of one of the landmasses, presumably North, she made a mark, then set down the pen, and pointed at it proudly. 

“Ah,” Elrond said, “It seems you are from quite a long ways away,” mostly to himself. “But how did you get here, from so far away, speaking no language of the land, traveling alone?” He was pulled from his musings when she tugged on his sleeve. “Yes?” She flipped her map over, onto the blanks side. She drew two dots, each on the opposite side of the paper, then a line between them. She extended her arms on either side, as far as they could go, as if measuring something. Then, she folded the paper so the two dots touched, and poked a hole, connecting them with the tip of the pen, then held up two fingers close together, a short distance apart. She repeated this several more times, demonstrating long for the unfolded paper, and short for the punched hole. Elrond wasn’t quite sure what she was suggesting. “You believe you may have- jumped? Or bent the land and thus travelled a shorter distance?” Well, that would allow her to travel very far and not know where she might land, but how could one do this? He sensed no magic or power on her before, and even now. He looked at her with greater suspicion, fearing once again the darker powers in this world.

But she was not done yet. She flipped her paper over to the map again, and laid it over the map of Arda. Then made the motion of stabbing through like she had done before. He shook his head, “I do not understand.” She frowned, and made a stacking motion with her hands, then pointed to the layered maps. Pointing, one map, one layer, two maps, another layer. And pointed moving from one layer to another. “You believe that these lands are layered on top of one another. And you have moved between the layers.” He made the same motions as she had, and tried to convey understanding. She smiled and nodded. “But how?” She just shrugged. It seemed perhaps she didn’t know as well. Or they were both wildly miscommunicating through gesture and drawing. 

“If anything is to be discovered, we must be able to communicate,” he decided. Yes, that would be the next order of business. “We must find you a tutor, come.” She cocked her head to one side, but followed him out of the study. Undiom was waiting for them. “Come,” he addressed her, “We are finding our friend here a tutor, so she may learn to speak.”

“Oh, I would be more than happy to teach her, my lord,” Undiom chirped. He laughed, “But then you would not have time to attend to your other duties, Undiom. We wouldn’t want that to happen, no?” knowing that was exactly what she had hoped. She sighed, “No, indeed.” A Elrond led the pair of ladies to the large library, he made a note to send word to the border guard to keep watch for MIthrandir, and send a message to Lady Galadriel, for they were both wise in the ways of this world as he, and if he himself did not know something, perhaps they would. Now, if he could just peel some young scholar away from his books long enough to teach this woman Common.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, Tolkien said the works were translated, so it makes no sense that a traveler would magically speak the same language. So sue me. Also, yeah, that's basically a wormhole she describes. I'm unoriginal like that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time passes.

For the next months, Pat stayed in Imladris, learning a mix of Common and Sindarian, general geography and some history. Her tutor, Thirior, has become one of her closest friends. When she first met him, that first day in the library, he’d been standoffish, acting like her very presence was a chore. Pat had been fully prepared to suffer through the hour long lessons where neither of them could understand each other, but they had come to bond through their shared dislike of one of the library’s curators. Said curator, Master Listir, was the perfect example of someone in love with their own importance. He had come by one day, still early when Pat hardly knew anything of the language and said something so snootily that even she knew it was insulting. Thirior just pursed his lips and shot him a dirty look as he retreated, and Pat got the sense that her teacher didn’t like him either. So she made the haughtiest expression she could manage and imitated his self-important head swagger, prompting Thirior to snort so loud Master Listir actually turned around to ask what was so funny. Poor Thirior had to make up some lie about an unfortunate grammar mistake Pat had made. Thankfully, the curator bought it, and had retreated into the stacks. Since, they’d bonded over their intense dislike of snide old people in academia, and had become fast friends. 

Undiom had also become a close companion. Actually being able to speak to and understand each other had only intensified Pat’s easy camaraderie. The elf maid was cheerful, quick to laugh and always knew all the secret goings on of Elrond’s house. Pat also got along quite well with Undiom’s embroidery circle as well, and though Pat just didn’t have the patience for that particular craft, she contributed with knitting, a skill she had known, but had further honed under the other lady’s instruction. It was at one of these gatherings in the evening after everyone’s daily work was done that Pat heard the first whispers of what she knew to be the Fellowship. 

The news that Mithrandir would visit was cause for excitement. Apparently even ancient elves thought a wandering old guy with fireworks and cool stories was worthy of some wonder, and as such, the staff was abuzz with delight. Pat thought it sounded like when some distant relative finally visits and brings a bunch of presents and hijinks that annoy the parents with them. Thirior was similarly excited, but mostly because Mithrandir was so old and traveled. The scholar loved to pick the old wizard for stories and knowledge that might not have reached Imladris yet. Pat was excited for him to visit because maybe he’d know of a slight chance she might be able to get back home. Galadrial had written Lord Elrond back about a month into her stay. She had never heard of anything like this happening before, and had little idea of how to proceed other than what Elrond was doing; helping Pat to adjust to her new life.

And she was. Pat’s days were split between language lessons with Thirior and exploring the woods near Imladris. When she had disappeared, Pat had been looking for inspiration for her thesis, trying to finish out her Masters degree in ecology. And with nothing better to do here, had continued to do so. Her ongoing project now was removing the fruiting bodies of mushrooms in marked off areas in the forest and seeing if this had any effect on later yield. From the data she’d gathered already, it was hard to say, it had only been a couple months, but apparently the rainy season was nearing, and that might have some impact. When she wasn’t pulling mushrooms out of the ground, Pat continued her exploration of the woods, familiarizing herself with the new flora and fauna. Some of it was familiar, there were trout in the streams, recognisable birch and ash trees, the old man’s beard hanging from branches. But some were alien to her, unique to this new world she found herself in. The huge dragonflies were a surprise. They didn’t get that big in temperate climates back on Earth and maybe not even in tropical environments! From head to the end of their abdomen, they were as long as her forearm, with shiny, iridescent carapaces. They didn’t tend to harass or bite at people, preferring frogs, small rodents and fish, but the first time she’d seen one, Pat shrieked and flailed, trying to knock the giant insect away and had to sit down for a little bit. 

She’d filled her old notebook with observations and drawings of all the new things she’d seen, and was halfway through another. That was another thing. Both Elrond and Thirior had been very interested in both the contents of, and backpack itself. Her raingear was fascinating to them, both made of gortex which wasn’t available here. The notebook and pens had also garnered some interest, but they were quickly consumed by her notetaking. Now, she had mastered the quills and charcoal pencils used here, though her horrible handwriting hadn’t improved at all. She could write just fine, in Common and Sindarian, but nobody could read it but her. 

So yeah, Pat would say she’d settled into life pretty well here. The kitchen staff paid her a small amount of money for harvesting so many mushrooms for them, she had made several pairs of socks for Undiom and Thirior, and life was good. She could be happy here. Yes, she thought of her parents and friends and old life. But there was nothing she could do about her situation. Worrying and crying over a problem she couldn’t possibly fix, spending her days weeping over her plight was no way to live a life. And Pat had never been one to cry over spilled milk. Whatever happened, she would make the best of her situation as she could, and move forward. And if she spent some nights, with the precious battery on her phone draining, listening to her music, eyes welling up every time she used the blade of her multi-tool, the one her dad had engraved for her? Well, that was no one’s business but hers. 

~~~~~

The day Gandalf (or Mithrandir, if you wanted to be fancy) arrived, Pat knew about it because it was all Undiom could talk about. She had burst into Pat’s room, just after noon, talking a mile a minute. “He’s here! Mithrandir is here! Oh, he was just like all those stories, the old man and his cart. He looks so ordinary, just like a normal Man, but I suppose you also look like a regular mortal and you are just full of surprises!” 

Pat looked up from the dichotomous key she’d been making of some of the plant life here, and laughed, “And just what have I surprised you about, hmm?” 

“Oh, lots of things! All of your talk about tiny atoms and chemicals and the cells, its so interesting! And you’re so quiet, but then you open your mouth and the funniest things come out! When Listiodel was bragging about that dress she had bought, and you said that it was too bad she didn’t buy a new personality too!”

“She could use one,” Pat grumbled, thinking of the elf’s boastful and crass attitude. “I’m just glad I didn’t say it loud enough for her to hear. I’m shocked that you did, to be honest.” Undiom laughed, and said, “You still haven’t remembered that you’re not around mortals anymore. We elleths have much greater senses than you.”

“It’s only been three months,” Pat muttered, but continued, “I need to go see Elrond, I want to make sure I get a chance to speak with him.” Undiom looked up from where she was reorganising Pat’s meager vanity once more, “Oh, yes. To see if he can guide you back home! How eager you are to leave us!” she teased, but Pat felt her face drop. “You know I don’t want to go because of you, right? I don’t mean to abandon you. You’ve been such a good friend to me, and I do care for you. I just want to go home if I can.” She drew a deep breath, “And if I can’t, then I’ll happily stay by your side.” She forced a weak smile.

Undiom’s blue eyes filled with tears, and her mouth turned down, and she flew across the room to pull Pat into a bone-crushing hug. “Oh, Patricia,” she cried, “You know I would _never_ stand in your way of going home! I know how it weighs on you, you must know I was only teasing?” Pat laughed wetly and said, “Yeah, I know. I just- I don’t say I care for people enough. Since- Well, since I got here, I’m trying to say it more.” Undiom just nodded and hugged her even tighter.

Undiom had to go back to her duties, and Pat spent the remainder of the day working on her key, falling into her work until one of the other ladies came and fetched her. “Oh!” Tristiel scolded when she saw Pat wasn’t even dressed for dinner, “What have you been doing all this time? No wonder Undiom is always chattering on about you, you need constant minding!” Pat, bemused and still not used to the Victorian-esque idea that one needed to put on an entirely different outfit for supper, looked down at herself and actually agreed. She was wearing a pair of the sturdy hide trousers that had been made on her request for pants (skirts were not optimal for tramping through the woods) and a white (now ink stained) blouse. Even if they didn’t have guests, she probably would have put on a clean shirt, but since Gandalf (freaking Gandalf!!!) was here, she let Tristiel lace her into a deep blue gown with gold embroidery of birds in flight, and braid her now shoulder-length hair into some semblance of order. 

Ten minutes later, Tristiel practically shoved her into the dining hall and Pat slid into her seat, trying not to interrupt the conversation. The rest of the higher-ups of the city, mostly wealthy merchants and craftsmen, were chatting to each other, and Elrond, at the head of the table, was talking to an elderly man with a long white beard in a grey robe. Pat also saw a gnarled staff leaning against the old man’s chair. She quickly looked down at her plate, trying not to stare, and focused on her meal. She would speak with him after dinner. She strained her ears to hear what they were saying, but Sithrii the glass worker was speaking loudly about mineral ratios in sand right next to her, so she could only make out general concerned tone and grave faces. Never had a meal seemed to drag on so long. It seemed like the customary three courses were ten, and while they were all lovely and tasty, Pat just wanted to shove it all in her mouth and talk with the wizard. To make matters worse, she definitely caught both Elrond’s and Gandalf’s looks once or twice through the meal. Her eyes narrowed. They were talking about her. 

Finally, after a desert of fresh berries, honey and cream was cleared away, and the guests began to leave the table, Pat got up from her seat and moved to intercept the pair as they headed for the door. “Elrond! Or, Lord Elrond, um, could I maybe have a word with the two of you?” The elf lord smiled slightly and said, “I’m surprised it took you this long. I thought you’d vibrate right out of your seat during the meal.” The old man (Gandalf!!!) _hrumfed_ like her grandfather always did and said, “I had three gold on the matter.”

Her jaw dropped, “You bet on me?” Gandalf laughed, “Well, an old man’s got to have _some_ fun, eh?” Pat was suddenly reminded of the reputation the wizard had in Hobbiton, the crafty, tricksy old man, and figured this was probably fairly in character. 

“Um, well, I know you’re probably busy, but if you could find the time-”

“Not to worry, young Patricia, Lord Elrond has already told me of your plight. I have been informed of the bare strokes, and I have some further news.” His face turned grave. “These are dark times we live in now, strange times. Come.” With that, he swept down the hallway, robe brushing the polished marble floors. Pat blinked, but Elrond seemed to take the sudden departure in stride, and followed. 

They reached Elrond’s study, and after the Lord shut the door behind them, Gandalf once again spoke. “In my travels throughout these lands, I have uncovered many strange phenomena. It seems, my dear Patrica, that you are not the only thing to have passed through the very fabric of our worlds.” He took out his long pipe and lit it with the tip of his finger. A long, thin coil of smoke encircled his head like a snake as he puffed on it. “Objects of strange materials, like Elrond had said came with you have been spotted. Strange sensations have come to me, as I lay under the stars at night. Sometimes unfamiliar stars.” He paused again, and sucked at his pipe. “I have consulted with the oldest scrolls of the histories of this land, and this has happened once before, long ago. Scholars of the time described it as a meeting of two worlds, both very much alike, but very different even so. This, I believe, is another such time. The barrier between your world and this one, I suspect, are very thin. The scrolls posited that such an event happens every ten thousand years or so. Objects, and less often, people, such as yourself, will continue to cross for a period of six months before the time has passed.”

“So I have another three months to figure out a way home. Can you help me?” Pat asked. Gandalf shook his head, “Alas, the energies governing this occurrence are much too powerful and chaotic for me to manipulate. It was by chance you came here, it is by chance you shall leave it.”

“Is there _anyone_ who can help me?” she asked, a tinge of desperation slipping into her voice. Gandalf thought for a moment, more smoke curling around his head. “Perhaps Lady Galadriel. She possesses great power, and even greater knowledge. But even then, I would not hope overmuch. This is the very fabric of existence we are speaking of, powers so great even the Valar struggle to govern them.” Pat felt a sinking feeling in her chest. It would be most convenient to send her to Galadriel with a group. And likely to be the next group to leave for Galadriel’s wood was the goddamn Fellowship of the Ring. Therefore, it was fairly likely that she would get sent on the fucking doomsday quest as a side quest. Which she really didn’t want.

From her knowledge of the story, it was a long, arduous, _dangerous_ journey fraught with death and destruction at every turn. And Pat would really like to _avoid_ dying, thank you. But if that was to be her best way home, what choice did she have? With all this rushing through her head, externally, she faked a smile, and said, “Great! But how do I get to this Galadriel?” Elrond frowned, “It is a long journey, made dangerous now by the coming darkness. We will have to send word to her of your travel, and prepare an escort-” he shook his head, “All things to discuss at a later date. Is there anything more we must discuss tonight? The hour is late, and you have said you must leave us in the morning.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf said, “I have learned something quite disturbing in the Mirkwood and must make haste to Bag End.” Pat felt her heart sink even more at this. So it was already happening. In the back of her head, she knew it would be soon, but not this soon. Gandalf would go to the Shire to warn Frodo, and get captured by Saurumon somehow? God, she wished she’d seen the movie more than once, or actually gotten around to reading the book. “Ah, yes, that matter.” Elrond nodded gravely, then turned to Pat. “I’m afraid we have done all we can for tonight. It is late,” he said with a kind smile, “You must be tired. We shall not keep you from your rest any longer.” Pat knew a dismissal when she heard one, and even if she did stay, she’d have to explain why she knew what she knew, which would create a whole new set of problems, not even touching on what weirdness might happen if she tried to interfere with the story in any way. Instead, she just nodded and bid the two goodnight. She took one last look at Gandalf, and knew she wouldn’t see him until the Council of Rivendell met.

Pat had a hard time falling asleep that night. She kept turning various possibilities over in her head. What would happen if she interfered? Was this a time travel situation, where any slight change completely shifted the end result? Or was the ending set in stone, and no matter what she did, everything would stay the same. Or perhaps only some points were fixed, like with Dr. Who, only large events were important. To be honest, this was one thing she didn’t want to poke to find out. Although, she thought, even the fact that she _was_ here was affecting the outcome. The very observation of an experiment can influence the results, Quantum Theory 101. _Eat your heart out, Schrodinger's Cat,_ she thought. Perhaps she’d already fucked up the timeline just by being here. In that case, she mentally shrugged, what was the point. It was best to just go along and try not to mess anything up that she already hadn’t. And hey, maybe she wouldn’t go with the Fellowship. In all the hustle and bustle and the One Ring, maybe Elrond would just forget she also needed to get to Lothlórian. There was a slim chance she might’ve ended up home anyway, so no big loss, she told herself, blinking back tears. Pat tried to shut her brain off for the night, and resolved to fade into the background as much as possible in the coming weeks. She nestled further into the pillow, settled by the fact that at least now she had a plan. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, is that actual plot and not just exposition? Shocking.  
> Also, did I borrow a plot device from Thor: Dark World? Yes. The Convergence is v convenient and I am goign to steal it >:)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot happens, so buckle up my dudes.

Gandalf had left early the next morning, or so she had been told by a very disappointed Undiom. Her friend had been so looking forward to hearing his many stories and magic tricks, she mournfully related to her as they ate breakfast. “At least you got to meet him, dear Pat. Was he helpful at all, can you go home?” Pat winced, having determined that if she journeyed to Lothlórian in the next three months, it might actually end the world, and ended up saying, “He didn’t really know. It was freak chance I got here, and only freak chance could bring me back.” Undiom made a mournful noise, and brought her into a hug. “I weep for you my friend. But you shall have a home with us for as long as you desire, even if it is not your old one.”

Pat smiled shakily back, and thanked her. After breakfast, Undiom had her duties to attend to, and Pat spent the rest of the day avoiding Elrond. She finished up her key, and thought about journeying back into the forest to gather more species, but eventually decided against it. In case she  _ was _ going to end up on some horribly dangerous journey across the continent, it might be a good idea to know how to defend herself. Still, she wanted to keep this from Elrond, as much as possible, so she tracked down Undiom.

“Undiom, do you know of anyone who might teach me how to use a sword?” Pat had found the elleth in the process of doing some laundry, and Pat had joined her. “Pat, whatever for?” she asked.

“Well, if I’m going to be staying here, I’d just feel a lot better if I knew how to defend myself. We didn’t really use swords, where I’m from, and- with all the talk from Elrond and the city guard, I’d just feel a lot safer.” She tried to put fear and worry into her voice, and technically, she wasn’t lying to her friend, but it just felt slimy. But Undiom seemed to buy it, and rushed to assure her that she knew of several amiable and well-mannered warriors who would indeed teach her. “I understand completely. Even though I know we’re safe here, to hear talk of such darkness and gloom,” she shuddered, “It makes my skin crawl. But not to worry, I will arrange lessons.”

And two days later, Pat stood before a tall, lithe elf with nut-brown skin, long silver hair, and a scowl. “ Estrilon!” Pat exclaimed, recognizing the border guard that had brought her to Imladris in the first place. “How are you!” He grumbled, “I am well. Why do you wish to learn swordsmanship?” 

“A number of reasons,” she said, “First, “I’m unfamiliar with anything having to do with it, and seeing how it’s the best way to protect oneself, it seems like a good idea to learn the basics. Second, I can’t just spend my days wandering around the woods, alone. What if I run into a bear?” (Though she did still have her bear mace) “Third, it would just be really cool if I knew how. It’s another skill to learn.” She smiled, trying for innocence. Estrilon didn’t seem to buy it, from the look on his face, but couldn’t find any way to get out of such insistent pleading by Undiom, so just sighed, and gruffly told Pat to “pick up a practice sword and we’ll begin.”

Over the next two months, Pat was bruised black and blue, sore and exhausted by movements and maneuvers unfamiliar to her. There was a hell of a lot more footwork than she’d imagined, though  _ Princess Bride _ had placed a lot of importance on it, so what did she expect. Her arms also gained some muscle, she was proud to say, and even Estrilon, the eternally grumpy, (as she and Undiom secretly called him) grudgingly admitted she was doing very well for a mortal. She still wasn’t even close to beating him in a sparring match, but he’d said she wouldn’t be totally helpless against the average non-elf fighter. So yay. From what she’d learned so far, it was almost like a dance. Footwork done in concert with upper body motion, careful timing and precise movement. From the ballroom dance classes she’d taken during undergrad, she managed to pick it up fairly quickly. (And Pat had to admit, it was pretty fucking sexy of her to be able to hold her own in a sword fight, especially with the new muscle she’d picked up. Hell yeah)

In any case, the weeks went by, Pat always looking over her shoulder, waiting for word to arrive of four hobbits and a ranger. Undiom was her usual cheerful self, and Pat tried to lose herself in her friend’s easy cheer and warm laughter. She avoided Elrond as much as possible, without trying to seem like she was avoiding him, and carried on, business as usual. Finally, though, the day came when Glorfindel, who Pat had interacted little with, surprisingly, came rushing back into Imladris with a shockingly pale, little body. Frodo had arrived in Rivendell. 

For such a momentous event in cannon, there was surprisingly little fanfare. People were more concerned and curious about what had brought the famed warrior thundering into Rivendell so quickly. The only reason Pat had even seen Frodo was that she happened to be walking on the main road out of Imladris as he’d ridden by. She’d just caught a glimpse of a pair of legs ending in large hairy feet hanging over the side of a horse as the elf had galloped by. Having some idea of what was to happen, Pat suppressed her curiosity and continued on her way, and was content with the thorough retelling of Glorfindel’s dramatic ride by Undiom.

“Oh, it is all very mysterious,” she said, hushed over dinner, “I heard that he was called to the plains by ancient forces for aid, and that he was attacked by ghastly shadowed figures. The little one he brought with him is the one of that poor party, most grievously injured.” Shockingly, that was fairly accurate, considering the nature of gossip Undiom usually brought to the table. Pat couldn’t help herself and asked, as casually as she could, “Who’s Glorfindel?”

“Oh, you have not heard? He is an ancient warrior, from the First Age, and fell defending many innocents from a fire demon, a Balrog” She continued, “For his valor, the Valar sent him back to us, reformed him a new body, and it is said he also helped defeat the Witch King during the Battle of Fornost. All the ladies are besotted with him, and certainly, I cannot blame them.” She sighed wistfully, “His golden hair shines so wonderfully in the sun, and his shoulders are so broad.” “Oh yeah, I think I saw him ride in today,” Pat said. 

Her friend wriggled her eyebrows and nudged her with her elbow, “And perhaps you also saw his fine features and shapely legs?”

“I think that escaped my notice,” Pat said dryly. Undiom scoffed, “Oh pish, perhaps he is just not to your preference. We shall have to find you some other man to swoon over, hm?” Pat laughed, “Oh, I don’t think now’s the best time for any of that, thank you.”

“Oh, but if not now, when? You won’t live forever you know?” Undiom said sadly. “You are with us for such a short time, I fear the day you leave us.” 

Pat put her fork down and said, “Undiom, exactly how old do you think I am?”

“Well, perhaps fifty or so?”

“And how long do you think I’ll live?” she raised one eyebrow.

“No longer than two centuries I should think.”

Pat barked out a laugh, “I’m 22, and given my family history I’ll either live comfortably up 100, or get a disease that will dissolve my brain until I forget how to breath. I’ve still got plenty of time left, Undiom, unless I trip and impale myself on a stick or get a blood clot in my brain and keel over at any time.”

Undiom frowned, “Oh, you’re so young! Were you of the eldar, you would be no more than a babe. Only a hundred years?”

“If I’m lucky,” Pat confirmed. 

Undiom looked very sad, “How do you stand it,” she asked in a small voice, “Knowing you have such a short time on this earth, that it could end in an instant?”

Pat reached out and took her hand. “You have to remember, it’s a lifetime for me. I have more than half my life ahead of me, a long time by my standards. It’s taken a long time to get here, by my standards. 

And besides, death is like the period at the end of a sentence. It gives what comes before meaning. If I had eternity ahead of me, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. Knowing I have limited time gives meaning to everything, even the stupidest, most mundane moment. And besides, if I spent all my time being afraid of death, I’d never have any fun. I can’t change it, I can’t get around it, why worry about it. There’s a song about it, y’know.”

Undiom’s eyes were still watery, but she insisted Pat sing it. “It sounds better with the music behind it,” she said, “And I don’t have the best voice, and I’m not sure I remember all the words. But okay.

_ “I'm gonna live till I die, _

_ I'm gonna laugh 'stead of cry. _

_ I'm gonna take the town and turn it upside down _

_ I'm gonna live, live, live till I die. _

_ They're gonna say "What a guy!" _

_ I'm gonna play for the sky _

_ Ain't gonna miss a thing I'm gonna have my fling _

_ I'm gonna live, live, live till I die. _

_ The blues 'll lay low I'll make 'em stay low _

_ They'll never trail over my head. _

_ I'll be a devil till I'm an angel, _

_ But until then, Hallelujah! Gonna dance, gonna fly. _

_ I'll take a chance ridin' high. _

_ Before my number's up I'm gonna fill my cup _

_ I'm gonna live, live, live, live, live until I die. _

_ I'm gonna live till I die, _

_ I'm gonna laugh 'stead of cry. _

_ I'm gonna take the town and turn it upside down _

_ I'm gonna live, live, live till I die. _

_ They're gonna say "What a guy!" _

_ I'm gonna play for the sky _

_ Ain't gonna miss a thing I'm gonna have my fling _

_ I'm gonna live, live, live till I die. _

_ The blues 'll lay low I'll make 'em stay low _

_ They'll never trail over my head. _

_ I'll be a devil till I'm an angel, _

_ But until then, Hallelujah! Gonna dance, gonna fly. _

_ I'll take a chance ridin' high. _

_ Before my number's up I'm gonna fill my cup _

_ I'm gonna live, live, live, live, live until I die.” _

“That was a very nice song,” Undiom said, “I will treasure every second I have with you.” Pat winced internally, figuring that might not be very long at all, even by her standards, but said, “Thanks, Undiom, that means a lot.” She looked at the meal before them, and said, “I feel bad, I kinda brought the mood down, there. Sorry.”

Undiom just smiled, and said, “No, it’s alright. It’s always nice to learn new things about you. You share very little about your past, meaningful things anyway.” She hesitated for a moment, then continued, “You always talk about your friends and your parents, with such love, and never about yourself, nothing tangible. I am glad I have learned this about you tonight.”

Pat smiled, awkward, “Yeah, no problem. I know I kind of keep my cards close to my chest.” Undiom just squeezed her hand one last time, then they both turned back to their meal. “So who was that guy Glorfindel brought in? He looked kind of uh- dead, really, what little I saw of him. Is he okay?”

“Oh!” Undiom frowned, “Ristuviel, you know, she works in the Healing Halls, close to Lord Elrond, said that the poor thing was very close to death, and the wound was very grave indeed. An infection that even Lord Elrond had trouble clearing out! She said he will likely recover fully, but it may take some time. Apparently, he was very worried over the poor thing, and did you know it’s a halfling? I thought they rarely strayed far from their home, but this is the second one we’ve had this century!”  _ Ah, Bilbo, _ she thought.

Pat had run into the elderly hobbit several times, mostly in the library or out in the beautifully manicured gardens. She’d found him to be amiable, if prone to bouts of forgetfulness, and he grew frailer every time she saw him. It was fascinating to watch the effects of the Ring wear off; fascinating, but horrible. Still, they had talked some about various plants and what sort of things lived in the rivers near the Shire. He had told her about his adventure, and in turn, she told him all of the Greek myths she could remember, and he had eaten them up. His favorite had been the stories about Hermes, which hadn’t surprised her. The trickster hobbit was rather like the god in many ways. 

“In fact, I believe I heard that this new halfling is the nephew of dear old Bilbo Baggins.” Undiom’s face dropped, “I do hope someone told him, I’m sure his nephew will be alright.” Pat soothed her friend, “I’m sure he knows, and if he doesn’t, someone will tell him soon. Plus, I hear he’s close to Elrond, so perhaps he told him in person already.” 

Undiom, smiled, “A fair point.” By this time, their meal was complete and Pat and Undiom retired to the nightly gathering of ladies that Pat secretly referred to as the  _ Stitch and Bitch. _ The various hand maids and workers of Elrond’s house gathered together in the evening, after work was done, and worked on their various fabric crafts, sharing whatever news they had gathered during the day. Pat was always amazed how fast their fingers could move over their embroidery hoops, while still holding conversation. She had seen intricate birds and scenes of wildflowers come to life over an hour of arguing which noble woman had committed some faux pa or whatnot. 

Tonight, the topic of conversation was the buzz Glorfindel had made. The chatter flowed from what had brought such a figure of legend to Imladris, who the mysterious figure currently resting within the healing halls was, what on earth had they been attacked by to warrant the attention of such a warrior, and general consensus on how maddenly handsome Glorfindel was. Pat listened quietly to all of this, absorbed in the set of mittens she was knitting. Sometime in the next few days, three more hobbits and a ranger would arrive. After that, she couldn’t remember when the rest of the Fellowship got here. Maybe it was a few months or only a week? Days perhaps? 

~~~~

Her question was answered three days later, when she was joined at breakfast by three short little men with hairy, bare feet. They bustled into the room when she was halfway through her toast with a great deal of noise. “Finally,” one of them exclaimed, “A decent meal! I was beginning to think we’d starve to death before all those elves were through talking!”

“Now, don’t be rude, Pip,” said another, presumably Merry, “They were only being polite, and it’s only fair that introductions to such lordly people might take a while.”

“Well, I don’t see why we couldn’t have done all that while eating! We haven’t had a good breakfast in days! Oh, hullo,” Pippen said, finally noticing Pat at the table, her knife poised with a blob of blackberry preserves dripping off onto her toast, “And who might you be?”

“Not an elf, to be certain. Why she’s a Man, er- a lady more like, but a Mannish lady. How do, Miss?” Pat, slightly stunned by the sudden onslaught, took a second to respond. “I’m Patricia, but you can call me Pat. And I’m good, thanks, how about you?”

“ _ Oh, _ much better now that we’re here,” Pippen plunked himself down in the chair across from Pat, “You would not believe the ordeal we’ve been through to get here, absolutely ridiculous!” He jammed half a scone into his mouth, then extended a hand and said, “I’m Pippen, by the way, Peregrin Took, nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand, and Merry took a seat beside Pippen, “It wasn’t all bad Pip, though I do say it was, mostly. Strider seemed nice at least, when he’s not busy looking dower and scowling. Merry Brandybuck, or Meriadoc if we’re being formal. Which I sincerely hope we’re not.” He too, began eating at a pace that took her by surprise. Finally, the last of them, a slightly rounder hobbit with a hangdog expression took his place at the table. He also filled up his plate, though with less vigor than his friends. 

“Samwise Gamgee, Ma’am, at your service,” was all he said, morosely buttering a scone. “Oh, Sam, lighten up,” Merry chided, “That fellow Elrond said that Frodo was alright, and that he’d wake soon, there’s no need to look so down.” He turned back to Pat and explained, “Don’t mind him, our friend’s taken ill, got poisoned by some nasty wraith-king of some sort. He got so bad that some handsome golden fellow had to come ferry him here, rode like the wind he did.”

“And your friend’s going to be okay?”

“Oh, yes, yes, Sam’s just a worrywort, you see. He’s taken it on himself to be Frodo’s protector in these wild lands, though I daresay there won’t be much of that to do here,” Merry said, gesturing at the gauzy curtains drifting gently in the breeze through the open windows, the bright morning sun shining through the thin fabric. The scent of fall in the air. 

“Yes, thank you Merry, I can speak for myself,” Sam interrupted, “And I’m  _ not _ a worrywort. Mr. Frodo nearly  _ died, _ and all you can think of is your stomachs,” he said, glowering at his two companions. “Well, he got better,” Pippen said, “And if you’ll recall, we were plenty worried. Only now, there’s no cause to, he’s in the best hands possible. Strider said Lord Elrond’s a wonderful healer, he’ll be in top shape in no time.”

Sam looked marginally cheered by his friend’s words, but not entirely convinced. Pat took some pity on him and said, “Elrond really is the best healer in a good few miles. I’ve only been here a few months, but such a reputation can’t just be for show. I heard one of his assistants talking a few days ago, and he’ll be fine, they’re just waiting for him to wake up.” When he still didn’t perk up, she continued, “I’m sure they’ll let you see him after you eat. You can see for yourself he’s okay.” 

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, Miss,” Pippen said, “Yes, Sam, let’s go see Frodo after breakfast, we can tell him all about how  _ we _ got here. I thought Strider had gotten us lost at least six times!” That finally seemed to pull the frown off of Sam’s face, and he began eating with as much gusto as the others. 

“You’ve only been here a few months, Miss, where did you come from, if you don’t mind me asking?” Merry asked after a few minutes of solid chewing. “I kind of came here by accident,” Pat said, “And I’m not entirely sure how I got here. It happened very suddenly and I traveled a long way without knowing it.”

“Now how on Earth did you do that?” Sam wondered, allowed. “Nobody’s really sure, but Gandalf suspected it was pure chance, very rare. I didn’t even speak the language when I got here, had to learn it from scratch.” She paused for a moment, “You know how sometimes you have those dreams where you can’t tell if you're dreaming or awake, and you’re just walking along? It was kind of like that, except I actually went somewhere.”

“Well, that’s very odd indeed, Miss, and even Gandalf didn’t know how?” When she nodded, Merry continued, “Well, that  _ is _ something. I thought the old man knew everything in the world.” 

“If he did, a lot of problems would be solved before they happened,” Pat couldn’t help but say, knowing Gandalf was recovering from his stay in Isengard with Sauruman, and  _ that  _ whole mess could have been avoided.  _ And, _ he would have been able to meet the hobbits in Bree like he planned, and fought off the nazgul way better than Aragorn and four hobbits with sticks. But hey, omnipotence was a rare skill to come by.

“I should say so!” Pippen said hotly, “We still don’t know where that old fox ran off to! He was supposed to meet us in Bree! We had to deal with Strider the whole way, and he is not nearly such good company.”

“Oh, he’s here too, got here about a week ago,” Pat said mildly, and bit back a smile at the outraged sounds from the hobbits. “A week ago? While we were tromping through the woods, eating cold mushrooms and roots in the rain? Why, that batty old fool, where has he been?” Merry said crossly, clearly indigent at having been left to fend for themselves. “He was held prisoner for several months in a tower by an evil wizard,” she said, dipping the last of her toast in her egg yolk. The hobbits went quiet for a moment, (the first time since they’d gotten here) until Sam said, “Well, that’s a very good reason then.” The other two agreed, and went back to their breakfasts. 

Finally, when they’d eaten their fill, they bid Pat goodbye and left to go visit Frodo. Pat finished off her tea, and went to finish her illustrations for the key. An artist she was not, but when she had a reference to go from, she was okay. As she sketched, she allowed her thoughts to drift to Gandalf’s arrival. 

The poor guy had come barreling in through an autumn storm on his fancy ( _ very _ fancy, apparently) horse, looking a little (a lot) worse for wear. He’d rushed straight for Elrond’s study, according to Undiom, who’d heard it from her friend who worked in the library and had seen the wizard rush through the hallway. Pat hadn’t really remembered at what point Gandalf spent his time at Isengard, nor for how long, but was glad to have it out of the way. One less thing to worry about. She and Gandalf hadn’t spoken since he’d been back, but she figured he had other things to deal with, you know, like finding out his buddy was actually really evil. 

In any case, it looked like things were really picking up around here, and about to get even more interesting. That afternoon, both a group of elves and a group of dwarves arrived, on very different business, the elves for some reason she didn’t know, and the dwarves, she had heard, were here about information on Moria and dark dealings in Dale and the Lonely Mountain. Again, Pat had been squirreled away in a lovely garden on the far side of Elrond’s estate, working away in the golden autumn sun on a stone bench. She got all her information at dinner from Undiom, who was  _ very  _ excited about the prince of the Mirkwood. 

“He was so tall and fair! Not so tall as Glorfindel, of course, but certainly not a chore to look at.” One of the other ladies reminded Undiom that a prince was pretty far out of her league. She just sniffed, and said, “He’s out of  _ your _ reach too, Luceiar, and you’d do well to remember it. But anyway, the other members of his party were also nice to look at, and seemed very well-mannered indeed. Perhaps they’d care to partake in the local flavor?” She said the last part with a coquettish wink, causing the other ladies to squeal with laughter. They were less enthused about the dwarves though. 

“I don’t really understand why  _ they’re _ here,” Ristuviel said with a sniff, “What could be so terribly important that they would come all this way.” 

“I’m even more shocked,” Undiom said, “That they’d even  _ deign  _ to come, they’re always so reluctant to leave their burrows, though heaven knows why.” Pat wisely stayed out of that discussion. Eventually the conversation moved back to the MIrkwood entourage, and Pat was able to fade into the background. It was interesting, she thought, to watch all the pieces fall together. Seemingly random circumstance brought all the right people into just the right place at the right time. And apparently Lord Elrond would meet them all at once. Imagine that.

The next morning came and went. She had breakfast with the hobbits, who’s moods (especially Sam’s) were much improved due to their reassurance that yes, Frodo was okay, and would wake up soon. They asked her a little more about what occupied her days, and she showed them her plant drawings and notes on the wildlife. They were interested only so much as if the plants were edible or not. As the house woke more fully, and the guests started to stir, Pat quickly left the dining hall to escape further notice. The more she thought about it, the more she  _ really _ wanted to avoid the whole thing. It would bring nothing but trouble and danger, and if she was going to spend the rest of her life, here, she’d like to be alive to enjoy it, damnit. Getting killed by an orc or whatever on the way to Mordor sounded like a great way to cut that short. And logically, there was no reason why she even would be involved with it. She held no position of importance, no great useful skill that would aid the Fellowship. No reason she should join them. And yet, the squirming apprehension still rose in her stomach. 

Pat hung a left to avoid the party of dwarves headed towards the dining hall, certainly not looking anywhere near Gimli’s riot of red hair and beard, and ducked into the secluded garden she’d sat in yesterday. It was lovely and sunny, fair weather for so late in October, and she could get away with her hide trousers, light blouse and a light cloak. It must have been a few hours before a voice interrupted her work, and she looked up to see a man with longish sandy brown hair, a few day’s worth of beard, a confused look. It took a moment to reconcile the face of Sean Bean with the guy in front of here.  _ Oh shit, _ she thought,  _ it’s Boromir. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, so a few notes.  
> All my timeline info, I'm getting from this website:  
> https://scifi.stackexchange.com/questions/7304/what-is-the-timeline-for-the-lord-of-the-rings-trilogy  
> so if you have any beef, take it to them.  
> Second, yeah, I like exploring mortality through the eyes of an eternal being, its fun. The link to the song is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9024VFH8rQ  
> I'm a sucker for jazz guys, what can I say.  
> Third, halfway through this I realized Bilbo has been living in Rivendell the entire freaking time, so I had to shove him in last second. Sorry about that. Anyway, the other hobbits were super fun to write.  
> Also, I love the idea of ladies kibitzing over needlework, that is the pinnacle of friendship right there.  
> Enjoy :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Boromir meets a weird lady, Frodo actually has a speaking part, and Gandalf is up to his old, shit-stirring tricks.

Boromir was glad to be in Rivendell. After many months of travel, he had finally made it to the last Homely House of the East. And oh, he was weary. His back ached, as it had for many weeks, his backside sore from the saddle (as it had been for  _ months _ ) and he was very glad for the warm meal and warm bath. A chance to refresh himself at last. 

Rivendell was as beautiful as the legends told. A stunning river valley, painted in the colors of fall. The air was crisp and clean, the sky such a brilliant blue he imagined he could see forever through it. Lord Elrond had been a most gracious host, giving him food, fresh clothing, a bath and a bed which he was very eager to rest in. He’d been given a beautiful room in the North wing. The only problem was, in attempting to find his way back to the main courtyard, so he might enjoy the excellent gardens and companionship of the elf lord, he’d gotten lost. 

The ever-winding corridors of the estate were lovely, but annoyingly identical. He’d quickly forgotten which turns his guide had made where, and become hopelessly lost, somehow winding back at his door several times. Finally, he managed to stumble out into some lost little garden, a bed of thick green moss covering the ground where a gravel path wasn’t, huge evergreens towering over it, giving the area an enclosed, safe feeling. It was lovely, if a bit overgrown, with grasses and shrubs not as manicured as some of the other gardens he’d seen. 

Well, while this was indeed a lovely place, and he wouldn’t mind passing a few hours in the shade here, he hadn’t eaten since his arrival that morning, and his stomach insisted he locate the dining hall Elrond had shown him to earlier in the day. Sighing, he had nearly turned to go back inside when he spotted a figure sitting in the shade, seated at an old stone chair and table, clearly absorbed in their work.

He stepped closer, and cleared his throat, “Pardon me, my friend, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I appear to be lost. I’m searching for the main wing, and I’ve gotten turned around, could you point me in the right direction?” The figure looked up, and Boromir noticed several things at once. 

First, this person was a woman, with sandy blonde hair that curled attractively about her shoulders, shining in the rays of sun that broke through the trees. Second, this woman was not an elf, as he had expected, but a Man, like him. Third, she seemed quite startled by his presence, thought quickly adjusted to the intrusion. “Oh, you’re new here?” she asked.

“Indeed, my lady. I am a newly arrived guest of Lord Elrond, and I’m afraid I’ve lost my way from my rooms to the main household.” She nodded, matter-of-factly, “Yeah, that can happen. I got lost a bunch, too, when I got here. Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

“Oh, no,” he said hurriedly as she rose from her seat, “No need to disturb yourself. Simple directions will suffice.” 

“Nah,” she said, gathering up her supplies, which he now saw to be a notebook, pen and ink, and a selection of herbs and flowers. “I’m really bad at giving directions, but I can show you. Besides, I need to head back anyway, it’s lunchtime.” As she stepped out from behind the table, Boromir took a moment to assess how oddly dressed she was. Instead of the usual skirts ladies normally wore, sturdy hide pants adorned her legs. A loose, white shirt that was entirely too loose about the collar allowed him a glimpse of some sort of undergarment that had him blushing. Her hair was a good deal shorter than usual, and she wore large round spectacles that scholars normally wore. 

“Ah, really, no need to trouble yourself, I’m with your direction, I can find my way.” But she would not be dissuaded. “It’s fine. I needed to go in for lunch anyway, this is just a good stopping point. Anywhere you need to get in particular?” She moved up to join him on the path.

“Well, the kitchens or the dining hall, but once we reach the foyer, I should be able to manage.” She just grinned and said, “Well hey, I’m headed there too. How handy.” She started moving towards the doorway back into the building, and he followed, not really knowing what else to do. 

As they walked, side by side, she seemed content to let the silence continue. This close, he noticed the sleeves of her blouse were stained with ink, and her hands were the same. Belatedly, he realized he had yet to introduce himself. He said so, and continued, “I am Boromir, son of Denethor, steward of Gondor. Pleased to make your acquaintance, my Lady.”

She huffed out a laugh, “Nice to meet you, I’m Patricia, but most people call me Pat. Are you here for the big meeting?” Ah, she did not mince words, this one. Blunt, and to the point. “Indeed, I am. Thankfully, I arrived just in time, I heard that the meeting is set only hours from now.” He decided not to tell her about his dream. It would only make him sound like a fool on a lark, and she had given him a convenient excuse. 

“This place is a maze,” she huffed, as they made yet  _ another _ turn, “It took me, like, a month to learn my way around. And I only found that place last week,” she gestured back towards the garden. “You are a guest here yourself?” he asked. “Sort of,” she shrugged, “I’ve been here a little under a year, since February.”

“Where do you hail from?” Her accent was odd, he couldn’t place it and she had strange speech patterns even so. “Oh, a long ways away. You said you’re from Gondor? What’s that like?” He thought it odd that she dodged the question, but supposed it wasn’t really proper to interrogate a lady for no reason. He talked some about his homeland, avoiding the recent darkness, the attacks, and focusing on his brother and their childhood exploits. 

Eventually, he began to recognize more of their surroundings and they began to encounter more people. At last, they reached a large archway and through it was the familiar long tables with platters of meats, bread, fruits and cheese. “My lady, thank you for your guidance. No offence to you or your company, but I hopefully shall not need it again.” He bowed slightly, and she laughed, “No problem. It’s easy to get lost. Good luck with the meeting.” There was a strange, knowing look in her eye that he thought odd, but then again, it seemed much about her was so, and he took no notice of it. 

What he did notice was that he was the only Man in the room, populated mostly with elves, the beautiful bastards. Other occupants included four halflings, who quickly waved Lady Patricia over, and strangest of all, a group of dwarves. They seemed to be most out of place here, their stout bodies striking in contrast to the light, breezy elven architecture. He took his place in an empty seat and filled his plate. Glancing at the sky, it was nearly time for his meeting with Lord Elrond, he would have to eat quickly. Shooting one more look at the odd woman, he ate his meal with gusto, still very glad indeed to be in Rivendell.

~~~

Okay, nothing against Sean Bean, but Boromir was  _ way _ hotter in real life (if this could be called real life). He also had a very nice deep voice, he would have been a great podcaster. And it was really funny that he called her ‘Lady Patricia’. Even though Undiom sometimes called her that, it wasn’t as striking when her friend did it. Maybe because Boromir was, like, actual royalty, and he was calling  _ her _ ‘Lady’. Wild. In any case, she’d dropped him off in the dining hall,  _ very _ proud of how normal she had acted, and was very pleased to meet Frodo for the first time.

He had woken up just this morning, and was feeling much better, thank you. He seemed sweet, just as clean and bright as a summer day, and man, did he have a big storm coming. Pat was kind of glad she wouldn’t get to see the world break him down. The hobbits had to eat quickly, apparently Frodo was wanted by Lord Elrond for some clandestine meeting (hmm, how strange, so was Legolas, Gimli and Boromir. How odd) and Sam, Merry and Pippen were all determined to sneak in. Pat just smiled and wished them luck, finished her own meal, and returned to her little hidden garden. Or tried to anyway.

Down a long hallway, she tried to turn left, when a surprisingly strong hand gripped her arm. “Hold there, Miss Pat,” Gandalf said, and wow, she had never noticed how intimidating he could be. He was actually a few inches taller than her, his eyes a piercing, intelligent blue. He looked straight at her. “Uh, hey. What’s up,” she said, trying to extract her arm from his grip.

“I think you ought to accompany me to Elrond’s Council.” His tone brooked no argument, but Pat tried anyway. “Um, why would I go, I don’t have any business I need to bring up. There’s no reason for me to be there.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “But there is one common reason we are all here. None of us have been gathered by coincidence, though all on different business. And yet, here we stand, assembled in one place, for one reason.” 

“I really don’t know what that reason is,” she said, and hoo boy, that sinking feeling in her stomach was back full force. Gandalf fixed her with a look and said, “I have a feeling about you, Miss Pat. The same feeling I had about young Frodo, Samwise and the others. I sense an anticipation. Whatever is to come to pass that involves all of us, involves you as well.”

“But I didn’t show up at the same time as them,” she protested weakly, “I got here like a year ago!” 

“A year, a day, it is all the same to the powers that be. By chance or by fate, I suspect they have directed you here, and you shall be present for it!” Goddamnit, she had really tried. Sighing, Pat nodded and followed Gandalf towards the Council room. The sinking feeling had now settled into something like dread and resignation, and she swallowed it down as they reached the doorway. She hated meetings on a good day, and if they were going to be discussing the fate of the literal world, this one was sure to be a doozy. 

The Council of Elrond took place on one of the many shaded terraces of the Homely House. Elrond sat at the head of the group, looking stately and regal as ever, and looked suspiciously unphased at Pat’s presence, at least with Gandalf practically dragging her there. Fortunately, she managed to disengage, and hover near the back of the group with the auxiliary members of both the elven and dwarven group. They gave her a few odd looks, but no one really paid her any mind. Hopefully it would stay like that. 

The meeting went on about how it played out from her memory. Boromir was very excited about using the ring to defeat Sauron, and literally everyone else thought that it was a horrible idea. After a long bit of squabbling in which they decided that the ring could not be hidden, but could only be destroyed, Gimli bravely tried to hit it with his axe, the result being the only exciting thing that had happened in the last hour. At some point Aragorn revealed himself to be heir of Isildur and rightful king of Gondor, which pissed off Boromir even more, and for a second, Pat thought they might start fighting right there. Eventually though, the conversation wound back around to who would be the lucky idiot dumb enough to take the Ring to Mordor. 

It was fascinating to watch, in a detached kind of way. Pat was on the outskirts of the group, and she could see the effect the Ring was having on the inner circle, but couldn’t feel it herself. Their voices got louder and louder, they spoke with less precision, less grace, became more wild with their gestures, and she could see poor Frodo’s face growing paler and paler. Finally, as the arguing men (typical) reached their fever pitch, and Pat was honestly scared they were back at fist-fight levels of anger, Frodo stood up, and in a strong, clear voice, announced, “I will do it! I will take the RIng to Mordor.”

Gandalf got that look on his face which Pat was beginning to learn meant that he’d been right about something, and agreed, while the others raised protests around them. Frodo was too small, too young, too frail. (To be fair, he had recently been poisoned, it was a fair argument) But Gandalf’s silver tongue eventually won the rest of them over, and one by one, the members of the Fellowship pledged themselves to Frodo. The rest of the hobbits barged out, and announced that if Frodo was going, so were they, Sam with the firmest set to his jaw, and the most determination in his eyes. Elrond was reluctant to include them, but admitted that nine walkers was an excellent number to counter the nine ring-wraiths. 

Pat, having not said a word this entire time and beginning to think she’d dodged the bullet, had her hopes smashed when Gandalf’s piercing grey eyes picked her out of the crowd at the back and said, “Hold, Elrond, I think we may have room for one more.” Pat tried to step behind the person in front of her, but seeing how that was a dwarf, it didn’t work so well. “What, Lady Patrica? Whatever for?” Elrond said, brow furrowed.

“Come now, you cannot tell me you haven’t felt the energy around her. She is still tangled in the threads of the fabric of the world from the hole she slipped through. I sense that she will bring an unforeseen element to this journey.” 

“Um,” Pat interrupted, “Couldn’t an unforeseen element also be bad?”

“Perhaps, but if we cannot see what mischief you will bring, likely our enemies have seen it neither. You are a wildcard, Miss Patricia, and I have always found wildcards to be most useful in a pinch.”

“Surely you cannot be serious, Tharkûn. Menfolk’s women are not fit for such adventures, they are creatures of hearth and home! She will have no place on such a trip,” one of the dwarves, possibly Gloin, said gruffly. A large part of her was offended at that remark, but the rest of her really did not want to go on a death quest. 

Next Aragorn spoke up, “Master Dwarf, I have known many women who have undertaken similar journeys from my time as a Ranger. They fill many of our ranks and can hold their own just as well as the rest of us.” Okay, bonus points for Aragorn. “The exception to the rule!” thundered Gloin, but then Legolas spoke up. “Tis true, this march is a long and arduous one. This woman looks to be a scholar, not fit for travel even without other faults.” 

“Not true!” Merry said hotly, “Miss Pat’s a fine lady, she can handle herself just as well as any of you lot!” 

“Quiet!” thundered Gandalf, his voice booming over the clamor of other voices. “From what I have seen, and know of Miss Patricia’s origins, I believe her to be fully capable of rising to the challenge. However, I believe the sole decision goes to Frodo.” He nodded to the hobbit. All eyes were on him, and he glanced up at Pat, and she hoped the dread and anticipation didn’t show on her face. He said, “Well, if Gandalf believes she should come, alright. She seems like the decent sort.”

Pat let out a long breath through her nose, a silent sigh, and there were grumbles all around, but it had been decided. “Very well,” Elrond said, “Ten walkers it shall be. An even number, and one extra to best the nazgul’s sum.” With that, the meeting ended, and Pat tried to escape from the terrace as quickly as possible. The various assistants and note-takers she’d been tucked in the back with, who had paid her little mind before, now gave her a wide berth and sideways glances as she made her escape. 

“That  _ motherfucker, _ ” she hissed under her breath, “I can’t  _ believe _ him! ‘ _ Oh, wildcards are good in a pinch _ .’ The audacity! Oh, what the fuck!” Stomping down the hall as quickly as possible, she went back to her little hidden garden to sulk under a tree or something. The moss and bed of fallen needles was soft under her butt, but she could still hear the echoing voices of the disbanded Council, and it was only making her angrier. “This isn’t working,” she grumbled, and got up and snuck back to her room.

She scribbled a hasty note on her door, ‘ _ gone camping, be back later’ _ , packed enough for two day’s worth of camping, then stomped out the kitchen door to avoid anybody who might be looking for her. She drew the hood of her cloak over her head as she walked through the streets, just for good measure, and soon was lost amongst the trees. Here, she didn’t have to worry about anything but herself, could drop any perceptions that weren’t true and just be. She stomped through the undergrowth, taking whatever twisty-turny maybe-a-path she could find. She wasn’t worried about getting lost. She’d hiked through these woods enough that she could find her way back in the dark. 

Over the almost-year that she’d been here, she’d picked up a lot. Now, Pat was a pro at finding campsites, making fires, finding water and edible plants and fungus. She found a nice spot, tucked under a huge pine tree, and set up the tiny, one person tent that now lived in her backpack. There was a spring nearby with potable water, and with little to do other than setting up camp, Pat settled in.

As it turns out, two days was a good amount of time to sulk in the woods. The only sounds were the birdsong and the wind through the branches, and she spent her days climbing trees and peeking into old bird’s nests, finding some weird, glowing mushrooms after the sun went down and looking at water beetles with her hand magnifier. At the end of her stay, Pat had calmed down enough that she could probably head back without punching somebody in the face, more confident in her skills, and just in general, more settled within herself. She had a bunch of new notes on the various aquatic insects, new questions to ask the actual botanists in Rivendell, and more cool drawings of bugs to fill her notebooks. She marched back into Rivendell with a smile on her face, and cheesy as it was, peace in her heart. However, it didn’t last long.

Pat entered through the kitchen doors, as she’d left, hoping to preserve some of the calm she’d found in the woods just a little longer, and actually made it back to her room unscathed. She unpacked, added her new notes to her omnibus, (really it was just a leather folder with dividers for different sections, bound with a shoelace) and took a well deserved bath. She said hi to some of the ladies also bathing at the time, but they didn’t say much. They looked at her differently than before. 

Now, instead of the weird mortal woman, Undiom’s friend, she was the even stranger mortal woman for some reason chosen for a quest to defeat the forces of darkness. Pat sighed, and moved to the deeper end of the pool and floated for a while, trying to avoid leaving this little oasis behind. If she closed her eyes, she was just floating in warm darkness, and  _ man _ , babies had it nice. Safe and warm, not a care in the world, sleeping peacefully in the womb. But eventually her fingers pruned and she got hungry, so Pat hauled herself out of the water and headed back to her room.

She opened her door and saw Undiom sitting at her desk, as she usually did when she wanted to talk. “Oh, Pat! Is it true? Are you really accompanying the Ringbearer?” Her eyes were wide and filled with worry. She sighed, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Undiom tsked her jokingly, “And you’re leaving me here all alone, how could you! Would you truly rather walk to Mordor than spend time here with me? Is my company so horrible?” She kept her tone light and teasing, but there was fear and sadness in her eyes. Pat laughed, “Ha ha, yeah. You and your awful gossiping. Can’t wait to get away.” Her usual sarcasm fell flat, hollow even to her own ears. 

They sat quietly for a minute, then Undiom abandoned her false cheer. “I know you do not wish to go, my friend. And I weep for you. Is there not some way to escape this?”

“I mean, I could fake my death, pretend to break both legs,  _ actually  _ break both legs,” Pat laughed bitterly. “But Gandalf seemed pretty insistent. And he seemed pretty convinced I’m supposed to come along.”

“Oh, what does he know, the old coot!” Undiom said hotly, her mouth downturned in a frown. “Historically, quite a bit,” Pat pointed out, “And besides. Y’know. It’s something to do. Something I  _ can _ do.” Undiom frowned, “What do you mean?”

Pat heaved a sigh, “I figure,” she said, “If you can do something to help people, you should. Like, don’t run your life into the ground at the cost of helping others, keep your own life on track, but like, help when you can. And here, I really don’t  _ have _ a life to run into the ground. I feel like I’m in limbo, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” She took Undiom’s hands, “You’ve helped me  _ so _ much. And this Sauron guy sounds pretty bad, like, burn the world to the ground bad. And I assume you’d like to avoid that, yeah?” When Undiom nodded, she continued, “And I figure, hey, this is a pretty direct route to doing that, you know? And I know I could probably avoid this whole thing entirely, go hide in the woods until it blows over, but I’d feel pretty bad about myself for not helping. So really, I’m doing this to feel better about myself. Pretty selfish, huh?”

Undiom just sniffled, and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “You call it selfish, but I know you’re the kindest person in the world. I see right through you, my friend.” Undiom pulled back and gave her a watery smile. “Dang, there goes my street cred,” Pat sniffled as well. “Now how will I keep up my tough reputation as a stone-cold misanthrope?”

“I’m sure somehow you’ll survive.” And that was that.

Pat ate her dinner in her room that night, still trying to avoid the awkwardness of the dining hall. However, it couldn’t be avoided the next morning. A note was delivered to her door, saying that Elrond had summoned the members of the Fellowship (which included her now, wow) to his study to discuss logistics. Pat was sorely tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep, but knowing Gandalf, he’d just appear at her door and knock until she showed up anyway. So Pat dragged herself out of bed, dressed and made her way to Elrond’s study. 

She actually got there before some of the others, Legolas and Aragorn talking quietly in the corner, and was very glad to see all four of the hobbits in attendance. They greeted her with cheerful smiles. “Miss Pat! Where have you been, we haven’t seen you in several days!” Sam exclaimed. She smiled, “I just needed a little time to myself. I’m back now.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Pippen said, “Those ruffians had no right to talk to you that way. Fortunately, I know how to treat a lady proper!” He stuck his chin in the air and dramatically offered her his hand. She laughed and took it, mock curtsying, “Why thank you, good sir. My honor is safe with you.” 

“Of course,” Pippen sniffed, “I’m a proper gentleman.”

“You’re nothing of the sort!” Merry proclaimed, “I’ve seen the way you behave, it’s a wonder your fit for polite society. Don’t let him fool you, Miss Pat, he thinks himself to be a ladies man, but I’ve seen a gal or two give him quite the dressing down,” he told her conspiratorially. “Well, I appreciate the effort, but I can probably manage on my own, guys, but I’ll let you know if anything comes up.” The four of them nodded, and they continued to bicker about inane things like favorite kinds of jam, and whether cake was better than pie. Eventually Boromir, Gimli and Gandalf entered, and they began. 

As it turned out, it would likely be a while before they could actually leave. Gandalf wanted to wait for the Nazgul to return to their master in Mordor before setting off, and Elrond agreed that it was a good idea. Most of the meeting was spent arguing about the route they would take. It was eventually decided that they would travel to Moria, and that further planning would be to invite trouble. “A great many things may happen on the road,” Gandalf said, puffing on his pipe, “Rigid planning may only bring more ways to fail.”

“So the plan is to improvise?” Pat blurted. She had tried to stay out of the discussion so far, still trying to avoid scrutiny and stay under the radar, but really,  _ that  _ was the plan?  _ That  _ was the best they could come up with? “The less the dark forces know our movements, the better for us. The less  _ we _ know of our movements before we do so, the less they know in return.” Pat shrugged; couldn’t fault that logic. Conversation dribbled to a halt, and Sam announced that now was a good a time as any to break for lunch. Pat ate with the hobbits, still avoiding the others, and after that, it was time for her sword lesson with  Estrilon. 

To her surprise and pleasure, the grumpy elf didn’t treat her any differently. He was the same gruff, take-no-shit guy he’d been before, and made no mention of the quest or the ring whatsoever. It was refreshing to just relax and let someone beat the tar out of her without thinking about the shadow looming over them. Pat let herself slip into the increasingly familiar mindset of block, parry, strike of swordplay, and definitely didn’t notice anyone enter the training grounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair to the dwarves, I get the sense that they don't have much contact with Men, even less with the women, and therefore have some weird ideas. Pls be nice to them, they shall be redeemed.   
> In other news, wow! A lot happened! This was a lot of fun to write and I hope you guys have fun reading it! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More time passes.  
> ~~~  
> Hey look, more Boromir POV! He notices that Pat is hot and doesn't know what to do abt it! And questionable ecology nerding-out! I just really like it you guys :) Hopefully this turned out okay, enjoy!

Boromir was startled when the old wizard had selected Lady Patricia to join the Fellowship. She hadn’t seemed worthy of note other than her strange dress and mannerisms. She seemed to be as the elf prince had described, a scholar, certainly not a warrior. Not fit to march the long road to Mordor. And while the dwarf lord had perhaps been lacking in tact when he’d announced that women of their race did not typically have the strength for combat, it was not unheard of. The warriors of nearby Rohan often included women in their ranks, ready to take up arms to defend their homes. But even the lady in question seemed to blanche at the idea of accompanying them. From the way she stormed off after the Council disbanded, she did not seem particularly enthused about the idea. 

Still, he didn’t think much of it until he overheard that the ward of Elrond (a title which she apparently had) had vanished into the woods. He was worried, at first, until he learned from a serving maid that she did this often. Apparently Legolas’s assessment of her vocation had been correct and she often took to the forests, investigating and cataloguing various flora and fauna. Seeing as no one had been sent after her, to retrieve her or check on her well-being, Boromir reasoned that it likely wasn’t anything to worry over, and put the matter out of his mind. Or at least until two days later when Elrond insisted they meet and establish a rough idea of when they might depart.

Gandalf was set upon not leaving until the ring-wraiths were not so much of a worry, and scouts were dispatched to learn of their whereabouts. The only real route they had established was that they would make for Moria. The lack of planning did not sit easily with Boromir. He liked having an established plan of attack, and to set out without one... did not sit well. But the wisest of them seemed to agree it was better than letting their enemies possibly glean their route and exactly where they’d be, and the matter was settled. 

During the meeting, he could not help but glance a few times at Lady Patricia. She had been absorbed in a vigorous debate with the little ones about cake of all things, and he thought it best not to disturb them. She didn’t seem any worse for wear after two days in the wilderness, and in fact seemed to be in high spirits. She too, shared doubts about their lack of planning, but also held her tongue. She was dressed similarly as she had before, sturdy trousers, a loose shirt, and messy hair, partially held back with a pin of some sort. Her eyes were large and serious behind the lenses of her spectacles and he caught himself before he stared at her for too long. 

He was further surprised by her when he stepped into the training grounds with Gimli, the dwarf who would be joining them. They had agreed it would be best to keep their skills sharp as they waited to depart, and it was a pleasant enough afternoon for some sparing. His attention was caught by a scuffle and the sound of metal on metal, and he looked over to see Lady Patricia with a blade in her hand against another elven warrior. 

From what he could see, she held her own rather well, though it was clear her opponent was aiming to teach rather than disarm at the moment. She wielded the hand and a half with some grace, and her footwork was admirable. The elf did not seem to think so though, and he shouted suggestions to her as they traded blows. “Faster! You are telegraphing your movements too much, anyone will be able to guess what you’re doing! Overhand! Good! Now parry!” She kept up with his orders well, twisting and stepping around in the dirt, thrusting and blocking in the dance-like style the elves seemed to prefer. There was, however, a good deal of the more Mannish groundedness in her sturdy stance and set shoulders. 

“Ah, seems I stand corrected,” the dwarf by his side commented mildly. “What do you mean?” Boromir asked. “The lass is not as I expected. She’ll do fine. Now those halflings,” Gimli said, “Are a different story altogether.” He pointed over to where Aragorn (heir to Gondor indeed, Boromir thought, looking darkly at the scruffy man) was attempting to wrangle the halflings into learning a bit of swordplay themselves. Mostly, however, the little men were laughing and whacking each other with their wooden practice blades. “I don’t imagine they’ll be much good, aye?” the dwarf said.

“Perhaps not,” Boromir said, “But we seem to have some time to prepare. There is still hope yet.”

“Aye, indeed we do. Shall we get to it?” the dwarf brandished his axe with a grin. Boromir smiled back and unsheathed his own blade. They fought for a while, Boromir becoming accustomed to fighting an enemy so much shorter than he, and quite possibly stronger, armed with an axe to boot. “Ho! You are very skilled, Master dwarf,” he said, dancing back from a swing from the broad blade.

“You’re not so bad yourself, but wait till we get to real combat! That’s where a man proves his  _ real _ mettle!” Gimli said back. They both paused to refresh themselves, and Boromir noticed Lady Patrica and her teacher were doing the same. Boromir glanced over, and immediately looked away again. Her thin shirt was damp with sweat and clung most attractively to her skin. He could see the outline of an undergarment beneath the fabric, and he was not used to trousers on women. The cut of them was so different, men’s trousers did not usually ah, cling as hers did. He hadn’t noticed the shapely curve of her legs when they had met before, nor the shape of her rear- he cut himself off, looked away and took another drink from his waterskin. He hoped the flush of exertion would hide his blush of embarrassment.

Fortunately, Lady Patricia hadn’t seemed to notice his staring. Unfortunately, Gimli had. “She is a fair lass, by Mannish standards, aye? Just don’t go lookin’ when you’re not lookin’ to get caught, mind ye.” 

“I was certainly not looking,” Boromir said, trying to salvage at least a little dignity, “I was only observing her skill. She’s a fair hand, I believe.”

“Aye, a good deal better than those lot,” Gimli waved his axe in the direction of the halflings once more. Boromir nodded. “What do you think of Aragorn?” he asked carefully.

Gimli shrugged, “I don’t trust a man who spends such a long time alone. And with  _ elves. _ ” He nearly spat the last word. “I heard he was raised with ‘em, the tree-loving bastards.” The dwarf grumbled a few more words that were lost in his beard. “Don’t trust the lot of ‘em.” 

Boromir frowned. If that was true, how could a man raised by elves govern a city of Man? He would know nothing of their problems, their people. The man in question seemed to have sensed Boromir’s glare, and met his gaze from across the field. Boromir huffed, and looked away. “Well then, Master Gimli, shall we go again? I’ll best you yet.” The dwarf cheered and they took up their arms once more. 

They fought for a while, evenly matched until Boromir heard a loud yelp from the corner Lady Patrica and her teacher occupied. He glanced over, only for a second without his consent, and in that moment the dwarf chose to bowl him over and pin him to the ground. “Ah ha! Caught ya lookin’!” his opponent crowed, climbing off of him. Boromir grumbled and brushed himself off, and glanced over only to see Lady Patricia climbing out of the dust as well, laughing and smiling. 

“That was amazing, could you teach me?” she said, grinning at her teacher, a fair, smooth-faced man with long silver hair. He frowned, then realized why he frowned, and frowned some more. The elf was clearly her teacher, he was being ridiculous. “Indeed, it’s a most helpful maneuver for escaping an unwanted hold. Like this,” and proceed to put his hands all over her, helping her learn the move. Boromir scowled and looked away.

“I’m in need of more than just water, my friend. I’m for the baths, will you join me?” Gimli gave him a knowing grin and said, “Nay, I’ll tarry a little longer. There’s some dummies aching for the touch of my axe, and I’d be obliged to give it to them.” Boromir nodded, and resolutely did  _ not _ glance in the direction of the lady on his way out.

The baths of Rivendell had not been spoken of in the ballads that had reached Gondor, but  _ stars above, _ they should have. The warm water and pleasing smell was heavenly, and he spent a very pleasant half hour enjoying the way the heat seeped into his muscles, relaxing much of his tension away. 

He didn’t see anymore of Lady Patrica that day, nor the next, but came upon her the day after that in the same garden he had met her. He nearly turned around to leave as he caught sight of her, for she looked very absorbed in her work, but she must have seen him in the corner of her eye because she looked up at once. “Ah, pardon me. It seems I’ve made a habit of disturbing you at work.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. I’m mostly just killing time. What’s up?” A strange expression, that was. “Pardon?” 

“Sorry, what are you up to that brings you here?” she said, waving away his confusion. 

“Oh, just wandering. There’s no need to disrupt yourself.”

“Oof, yeah, I did a lot of that when I got here. There are some pretty cool spots that not a lot of people go, if you look hard enough.” 

He swallowed nervously, “Perhaps you might show me sometime?”

She smiled, “Sure!” and began to stand up. 

“Oh! Not at this minute, please, don’t trouble yourself, he rushed to say, but she waved him off. “Nah, it’s fine. Really, I’m mostly just doodling now. This saves me wasting paper.”

“Ah, if you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing? I have been told you’re a scholar, but I have no inclination of your field of study.” Out of habit, he offered her his arm, even though she was the one who knew where they were going. She looked taken aback by it for a moment, but took it anyway. It was a pleasant feeling, her arm in his, the warmth of another person against the chill of the air. They walked along as she continued.

“Technically ecology. I’m not sure what the term for that is here, but it’s basically the study of how all the moving parts of an environment work together, the sun, the rocks and minerals and rain, plants and animals The big picture, kinda stuff.”

Boromir frowned. He hadn’t heard of such a field of study, other than learned men deciding on when and what crops to rotate. He said as much, and she smiled, “Yeah, just like that. If you don’t rotate your crops, then certain nutrients that those plants need will become depleted in the soil, making it worse and worse to farm in. Rotating crops allows different minerals to be taken up, and allow others to replenish.” 

“I suppose that makes sense,” he said. She laughed, and replied, “Honestly, a lot of it  _ is _ just common sense. A lot of the stuff they teach you is just stuff you wouldn’t normally think about. Like, it takes a lot more energy to actively stalk and hunt and kill things right? So predators need to take in more energy through eating, than say, something that doesn’t have to hunt its food, like a deer. But plants that a deer eat also don’t have much energy in them, so it in turn has to eat a lot of it to keep up. It all makes sense intuitively, but you kind of wouldn’t think about it unless somebody specifically told you, or you went looking for an answer.”

“I suppose so,” Boromir said, because he hadn’t thought of that, and it did make sense. At that moment, they arrived at yet another stone archway, leading into a wide, open room filled with an indoor fountain that spilled into tiny rivers flowing down stone banks in the floor. Lady Patricia disengaged from his side to hop over one of the streams. “I have no idea why this is here, but it’s really pretty,” she said, continuing to step over the water until she reached the main fountain and peered over the edge. “The coolest thing about this place is that they have gravel and sand down in the fountain, and it must get enough sunlight that plants can grow. It’s like a little pond down in here, bugs and everything.” 

He moved to join her and indeed, in the belly of the fountain was a bed of sand, aquatic plants and even green pond scum floating on the surface. “Incredible,” he murmured. They ended up spending a good few hours together, exploring the vast halls of the Homely House. Among the rooms that they visited, there was a long hall of statues and frescos, one that held the shards of sword from his dream. Lady Patricia noticed him looking and asked, “What’re you looking at?”

“I- just these broken shards here. They came to me in a dream, it is what inspired me to come here in the first place.” 

“Do people here have prophetic dreams a lot, or are you just lucky?” she asked. He looked at her oddly, but was strangely charmed by it, as he was by all her mannerisms. “Not terribly common I believe, but these are strange times. But no, I would not consider myself lucky,” he said, trying to match her joking air. But for some reason she didn’t seem to find it funny. “Well, hopefully your luck improves. Where we’re going, I think we’ll need all the luck we can get.”

“I suppose so.”

At dinner that night, they sat at one of the long tables in the communal hall where most everyone ate their meals. They sat down and were immediately besieged by the four halflings, talking cheerfully about the day they’d had and all the wonderful things about Rivendell.

~~~~~

Two months went by in Rivendell. They split their time between spending the shortening days leading to the solstice in the beautiful gardens, enjoying the fine food, and fretting about their upcoming quest. Pat hadn’t thought that they spent so much time lingering in Rivendell, one would think they’d want to get rid of the damn thing as quickly as possible, but hey, what did she know.

In any case, she spent a lot of time with the hobbits, a lot of time practicing her swordwork, and a lot of time outdoors. As for the first item on that list, the four of them became something of the brothers she never had, equal parts annoying and endearing. They often split into pairs, Merry and Pippen went haring off to cause trouble somewhere (much to the dismay of Elrond) and Sam and Frodo spending as much time as possible with a steadily ailing Bilbo. Sam was loath to be parted from Frodo’s side, a trait that would serve him well in the coming months. Every other day or so, one or all of them would come along with Pat on her excursions into the forests. As before, they were mostly interested in the edible plants and fungi, but it was nice to have companions. 

She attempted to get them to take their own fighting lessons with Aragorn more seriously, but even she wasn’t immune to Merry and Pippen’s combined mischief. Usually they spent about fifteen minutes actually learning proper grip or stance before somebody tripped or whacked another with their practice blade and it devolved from there. Even Aragorn, who conducted the ‘lessons’, was hard pressed to keep his usual frown on his face. When she wasn’t corralling hobbits with tiny wooden swords, Pat kept up her own lessons with Estrilon. She was getting better, and though it was clear he wasn’t fond of her, he grudgingly admitted she was doing well. Pat liked to think they’d bonded over their shared dry sense of humor. The first time he made a joke, it took Pat a solid fifteen seconds to recognise it before she burst out laughing. A moment later, he followed, and things went much smoother with their silent agreement behind them.

As for her time outdoors, she went on several more mini-trips, the longest just under a week when a bird shit in the spring she was using as a water source. It was nice. While it never snowed, it did dip below freezing at night, and when she woke in the morning, everything was covered in a fine layer of frost, glinting in the late morning light. It was beautiful. Mostly, she wandered around looking for unfamiliar things that weren’t native to her world. Most of the giant dragonflies were dead, she figured that out the hard way when she put her foot through one of the carapaces one morning. The crunch startled her, and when she looked down, her boot was encased in the half-frozen bug-gook in the head, still encrusted with frost. Other notable creatures were a songbird that perfectly sung “Piano Man” back to her (startled the living daylight out of her) and a toad as big around as a car tire resting in a pond. That, she almost stepped on too, or she would have if it hadn’t jumped out of the way. It swam over to a fallen log half out of the water and croaked at her, louder than any frog she’d ever heard.

When she’d asked Elrond, “Do you know you have giant toads in your woods?” he’d looked at her strangely and asked if they didn’t have them where she was from. So Pat tracked down one of the other scholars and found out everything she could from them. That took up about a week.

One common thread in all of this was Boromir. He seemed equally interested in hearing everything the hobbits had to say, from Hobbiton gossip to festival traditions, any detail was worth hearing. Pat also sparred with him if he was at the training grounds at the same time she was, which happened suspiciously often. He was better, obviously, having many more years of experience, but she managed to beat him a couple times, and he was a gracious loser. He also came with her sometimes on her daily excursions into the woods. She explained her work in greater detail and pointed out the giant toad in the pond who was still sulking under the fallen tree. 

It was nice.  _ He _ was nice. And Pat was a sucker for people being nice to her. She saw Legolas and Gimli and Aragorn around sometimes, and they’d grown warmer to her, sure, but she actually spent time with Boromir. And she  _ liked _ Boromir. He was attentive to her words, asked good questions and answered all of hers about Middle Earth to the best of his knowledge, and his voice and laugher were nice to hear, and the sun turned his hair bronze when it filtered through the trees, and it was just-  _ nice _ . Nicer than it had the right to be, waiting for their quest to start. 

One afternoon, jumping over a fallen log in their path, he asked her about her home. “I know you lived a very different life, from the way you talk, the way you act. What is it like?”

She laughed. “You’re right, it is very different. I don’t really know where to start.”

He thought for a moment, then said, “What would you be doing now, if you were still there?”

Pat sighed, thinking about the time. “It’s the beginning of December now, right?” When he nodded, she said, “I’m going to school in my hometown, so I’d be over at my parent’s house a lot, helping with all the Christmas baking.”

“Christmas?”

“It’s like the Winter Solstice festival in a few weeks, December 25th. It’s actually a religious holiday, but we usually just celebrate it as a chance for the family to get together and give gifts and eat a lot.”

“Not so different from our own traditions, I assure you,” Boromir laughed.

“Yeah, winter festivals are a pretty common theme among civilizations, I think.”

They walked silently for a while, before he spoke up again, “What things would you bake?”

“The cookie dough. It has to sit in the garage for a few weeks before we can roll it out, and a few years ago I started helping my mom with it. She took it over from Grandma when she couldn’t do the stirring anymore. So we start it early, then we all get together and roll and cut out the cookies. Then later we sit around and decorate them.” She paused, “That and the cranberry bread and the fruitcake, but mom usually handles those.”

I suppose I’d also be studying for finals too, but you already know about that.”

“Yes, you’ve complained enough about them, I know them well,” he chuckled. “We do not do so much for the Winter Festival. Of course, my father holds a banquet, but it’s not so much for our family as it is for the whole city. He has the kitchens prepare so much food, it's nearly enough to feed the entire population. It’s a day when everyone eats well.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is, but not so familial as yours seems to be. We usually don’t see Father until the banquet itself, and almost never in the upcoming days, as he’s so busy with it. My brother and I spend time together, though.”

“Well hey,” she bumped his shoulder with her own, “There’s going to be a festival here, so you’ll have lots of people to spend it with this time, hey?”

“I suppose so. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she grinned. They walked in silence for a bit, making their way back to Rivendell.

Another time, they’d dallied too long looking for more of the glowing mushrooms, and it was dark by the time they started back. The air was crisp under the pale, round moon and Pat had a song stuck in her head for most of the day. She caught herself humming it under her breath multiple times, hours apart, and now was one of those times.

“What are you singing?” Boromir asked.

“Man, sorry, I’ve just had this song stuck in my head all day. That ever happen to you?”

He laughed, “Occasionally. Anything I’d know?” Pat snorted, “Unlikely.”

“Could I convince you to sing it for me?”

She laughed, “First, it's a duet, it’d be awkward to sing it solo, and second, I don’t really have the best voice. And it’s in [ _ english _ ] as well, so I don’t think you’d understand it.” Likely that word he didn’t recognise was her home language. They walked a little further before Pat said, “Hey, you know what? I have something in my room we can listen to it with.”

Boromir frowned, “Is this the mysterious device you keep referencing?”

“Yep, it’s almost out of battery, but if not now, then when. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.” Pat paused, taking in the double meaning of her own words. Boromir, if everything happened as it did in the book, would die. Did she really want to attach herself (because she was attached, make no mistake) to someone she would only have a little time with? 

She’d thought about this a few nights ago, after the walk when they had talked about Christmas. It kept her up well into the night. Was it better to have something and have it taken away than never have it at all? Maybe it would be best to make some distance between them. 

But now, thinking about her phone battery, it was worth it. It was worth it to share it with Boromir, to share friendship and maybe something more, even if it would end soon. Because, hey, life is short, live it to the fullest. She let herself look at him out of the corner of her eye. And she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah anyway, I looked up that thing about the planning as well. Solid logic, but it would drive me bonkers in that situation. 
> 
> And I'm kind of nervous about starting the Frodo/Sam thing! Like, they're obvi super in love w/ each other, but I'm not sure how to show that without their own internal monologue and I want to keep the POV in Pat and Boromir. Thoughts?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just because I think contemplating mortality surrounded by immortal beings is cool. Also I like Hozier.   
> And they're flirting!!! Finally. And Boromir learns about technology.

Boromir was very nervous to be escorted to Lady Patrica’s (‘call me Pat, please, I’m not an actual lady, you know) room. He knew she was from a very different place, and perhaps it did not mean the same thing there, but to be invited to a lady’s room, after dark no less, alone, had certain... connotations. 

The dimly lit corridors of the Homely House and the few people they passed gave him an even more clandestine feel, like they were sneaking through the night. It was a little thrilling, if he was honest with himself. Her room was closer to the center of the estate, an unassuming little door in an unassuming hallway. He swallowed, somehow it didn’t feel as such. 

Over the past weeks, he had grown even more fond of the odd woman’s company. She was funny, possessing the same dry wit as his brother, disarming in her bluntness, no-nonsense in certain areas, but as silly and jovial as the hobbits about others. There was little he could find to dislike. 

She opened the door and welcomed him inside. Her chambers were larger than his, which made sense, as she was a long-term guest. It was charmingly messy as she was. Books and paper scattered over every flat surface, articles of clothing draped over chairs, and a pack half-unpacked leaning against the bed. The sheets were still tousled from sleep, unmade. He blushed. This seemed unbearably intimate. 

Lady Pat (he compromised) sat on the edge of the bed and opened the drawer of the nightstand to the side of it. She dug through it, shoving aside bits of paper and scraps of dried plants. He took an opportunity to look at some of the papers tacked to the walls. Mostly sketches of plants and mushrooms, in charcoal, then ink over, sometimes colored. There were also notes written in a script he didn’t understand, most likely her mother tongue, though her handwriting was so horrible, he likely couldn’t have read it even if it was in Common.

“Ah ha! Here,” Lady Pat said, pulling him away from the walls. “You don’t have to stand there, sit down, it’s okay. Here,” she patted the bed next to her, “It’s better through [ _ headphones _ ].” Boromir tried to keep his cool and settled next to her. This close, he could smell the rose soap, both from her, and the bedclothes. In her hand she held a small, flat tablet about the size of her palm made of black glass. She pressed a small raised button on the side for a few seconds before the glass lit up from within.

“Oh!” he couldn’t help but exclaim. “Neat, isn’t it? It responds to the uh- what’s the word [ _ electricity _ ] no- energy of your skin.” She swiped her finger over the surface and the glass changed, showing several foregn characters. She tapped a few of them, and the glass changed again. “You try,” she said, holding the tablet out to him. Tentatively, he moved his finger over the glass, and the glowing picture moved with it.

“Cool right? Anyway, before we run out of [ _ battery _ ].” She navigated through several images with ease, flicking through the colored light without any effort. Finally, she tapped on a small blue box and searched through rows and rows of the strange text before apparently finding the one she wanted. “Here.” She pulled out something else from the drawer, long strings with nubs at the end. She took one nub and placed it in her ear, the other end she stuck in a small hole on the side of the tablet. “Stick the soft part in your ear. The music will come from there.”

Awkwardly, Boromir did as instructed. One final time, Lady Pat tapped the glass and then music like he’d never heard entered his ear, as if the musicians were right in front of him.

[ _ I have never known peace _

_ Like the damp grass that yields to me _

_ I have never known hunger _

_ Like these insects that feast on me _

_ A thousand teeth _

_ Yours among them, I know _

_ Our hungers appeased _

_ Our heartbeats becoming slow _

_ We lay here for years or for hours _

_ Thrown here or found _

_ To freeze or to thaw _

_ So long we become the flowers _

_ Two corpses we were _

_ Two corpses I saw _

_ And they'd find us in a week _

_ When the weather gets hot _

_ After the insects have made their claim _

_ I'd be home with you _

_ I'd be home with you _

_ I have never known sleep _

_ Like the slumber that creeps to me _

_ I have never known color _

_ Like this morning reveals to me _

_ And you haven't moved an inch _

_ Such that I would not know _

_ If you sleep always like this _

_ The flesh calmly going cold _

_ We lay here for years or for hours _

_ Your hand in my hand _

_ So still and discreet _

_ So long we become the flowers _

_ We'd feed well the land _

_ And worry the sheep _

_ And they'd find us in a week _

_ When the cattle show fear _

_ After the insects have made their claim _

_ After the foxes have known our taste _

_ I'd be home with you _

_ I'd be home with you _

_ They'd find us in a week _

_ (Lay here for years or for hours) _

_ When the weather gets hot _

_ (So long we become the flowers) _

_ They'd find us in a week _

_ (Lay here for years or for hours) _

_ When the cattle show fear _

_ (So long we become the flowers) _

_ And they'd find us in a week _

_ When the buzzards get loud _

_ After the insects have made their claim _

_ After the foxes have known our taste _

_ After the raven has had its say _

_ I'd be home with you _

_ I'd be home with you _ ]

At first it was just a man’s voice, then a woman’s, then the two of them together. Even though he could not understand the language (though he heard Lady Pat muttering in it sometimes) it was clearly a love song. Such was the passion in the singer’s voices. Perhaps this meant Lady Pat was thinking of him in the same way? He swallowed, “It’s beautiful. What do the words say?”

“It’s about two corpses rotting in a field together,” she said, barely concealing a smile. 

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am! It’s called In a Week, I’ll try to translate it, gimme a sec.” She got up and rifled through the desk, quickly scribbling out the lyrics on a stray piece of paper, pausing occasionally, thinking over the words. 

After a few minutes, she read him the words. “So it’s about finding peace in death in the arms of a lover. Kind of morbid, but man, can you think of anything more beautiful than just, the bones of two people who loved each other, in a field together forever?”

“I suppose so.” He didn’t know what he expected. Lady Pat was so strange and contrary, it made sense that music from her land would be the same. “It was beautiful either way. And I can see the appeal.”

“I’m glad.” She pressed the button again, and the glass went dark once more. “Um, well, thanks for indulging me. It always helps to listen to it when a song gets stuck in your head.” She shifted awkwardly next to him. Boromir cast his eyes along the floor, avoiding her gaze, only to blush again, furiously, when he saw the set of stays and stockings lying discarded on the floor. “It’s-” he coughed, “It’s no problem, my Lady. I, ah- I should probably get going.”

“Okay,” she said, like nothing was amiss. Then she followed his gaze, “Oh! Sorry about the mess! There’s usually no one in here but me and Undiom.” She stood up and awkwardly shoved the undergarments into a chest of drawers. 

“It’s no problem, really. This is your space, after all.”

“I know, I just. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She moved to sit back on the bed with him. “Don’t wanna ostracize anyone I’m walking across a continent with, hey?”

He swallowed, “There is little you could do to ostracize me, Lady Pat.” 

“Watch out, that sounds like a challenge,” she smiled back, and took his hand where it rested near hers on the bedspread. Her grip was loose but warm, her skin smooth and soft, ink stained fingers resting against his own sword-calloused hand. 

Gathering his courage, he said, “You shall have to try harder than that.” 

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” She leaned closer, their shoulders touching now. He could feel the warmth of her skin through their clothes. Her eyes were dark in the low light of the room. 

He caught himself. “My Lady, I- I should take my leave.” He pulled away, now noticing their faces had been only inches apart. “It’s late, you need your rest.” Boromir stood up from the bed, fiddling with his cloak, and made for the door. “I apologise.”

“It’s no problem.” She looked bemused, sitting unruffled on the bed where he’d left her. “Look at me, already scaring you away. That was easier than I thought.”

“I assure you, my lady, you have not scared me away. I’m- It’s certainly the opposite.” 

“Well since I’m doing the opposite of scaring you away, you can probably just call me Pat now, hey?”

He hesitated, “Perhaps I might need a bit more persuasion.”

She grinned, dark eyes full of mischief, “I can probably manage that.” Oh, that face was trouble. “But perhaps not tonight,” he said hastily, “I fear I’ll not be able to weather it.”

“Oh, no problem. We’ve got- well, maybe not time, but I have a weird feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other for a while.”

Boromir smiled, “Yes, I imagine so. I must bid you goodnight, Lady Patrica. Have a good evening.”

“You too,” she called after him as he slipped out the door. He breathed a sigh, not of relief per say, but he recognised that some of the tension between them had burst. But a great deal of new tension had been created. 

He wandered back to his own chamber, head still reeling with the feeling of her hand in his, and the smile in her eyes. 

~~~~

Three more weeks went by. And Pat spent a lot of that time flirting with Boromir. It’s not like she was seeking him out or anything, but whenever they happened to see each other, maybe she’d smile a little more than usual, or sneakily hold his hand under the table when they ate dinner. It’s nice. 

The Winter Festival quickly approached. Undiom was very excited about it. She spent the days leading up to the event in a whirl of fabric, smiles and winter flowers. “We must find you a dress to wear! You’re an honored guest of Lord Elrond, you must look the part!”

“I don’t mean to state the obvious, but I have a whole closet-full of dresses I’ve never worn before. Why can’t we use one of those?” Pat said, pointing to the armoire in the corner. 

“Those are all summer dresses. And you  _ would _ have worn them if you didn’t insist on running around in trousers everywhere you go.”

Pat smiled, “I told you, they’re better for hiking, and I’m more comfortable in pants. I don’t have to watch how I sit.” This was an old argument, one they’d had many times, and continued now in good fun.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to watch how you sit if you didn’t insist on sitting like a ruffian,” Undiom replied, huffily unfolding one of the chemises Pat used as nightgowns. “Whatever they taught you in that strange land of yours, it certainly wasn’t manners.”

“It’s not my fault that I’d rather be comfortable than polite.” Undiom just grumbled more, and said, “Laugh all you like, but I’ve made you an appointment with my friend Ceiliel tomorrow. She’s a dressmaker for Lady Evarion. And you’ll go, even if I have to drag you there myself,” she finished, cutting off Pat’s protests before they even began.

Pat scowled, but knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid her friend’s machinations for long. “Besides, don’t you want to catch the eye of that handsome Gondorian man you trail about?”

Pat scoffed, “I do  _ not _ trail him around!” but felt her face glow red with blush.

“You do. Nearly everyone I know has seen him following you into the forest, or sitting at your side while you write. He is smitten and everyone knows it.  Ristuviel saw you holding hands in the garden not five days ago.” Pat glared at her friend’s smug face. “Come on. Wouldn’t it be nice to look your best for him. He’s already so smitten with you, one look at you in a beautiful Winter Festival gown and he’ll ascend to the heavens.”

Pat wavered. It  _ would _ be nice to see the look on Boromir’s face. It wasn’t as if she dressed down, but a lot of days, she didn’t put much effort into her appearance. Just threw her hair half-up, put on whatever clothes were clean and didn’t clash horribly. And she knew she cleaned up nice when she tried. 

“Come on, I can see you want too,” Undiom wheedled. 

“Fine. But I don’t have to like it.” Actually, now that it was on the table, Pat was kind of excited too. She didn’t have many opportunities to dress up, and it was nice to feel fancy sometimes. 

The next day, just after lunch, Undiom dragged Pat away from her studies and into the chambers of her friend. The room was covered with various fabrics in all colors of the rainbow, beautifully patterned, with half-finished projects on mannequins, and various trim and lace scattered on every available surface. “Oh, come in!” Ristuviel beamed, “This is wonderful! Undiom has told me everything! Lord Boromir won’t know what hit him!”

“Okay, that’s not the whole reason for this,” Pat said, but allowed Ristuviel to drag her in front of the large mirror in the corner. Immediately, the elf maid pulled out a tape measure and began measuring every last inch of her. “Of course, of course. But it is a pleasing consequence, is it not?” she grinned from around Pat’s shins. “What colors are you looking for? What kind of cut?” 

“Perhaps a dark blue or green, maybe a deep berry. Everyone wears such light shades, it’s very overdone, and we want you to stand out. And darker colors would stand out so wonderfully against your skin,” Undiom said, already wandering over to a pile of fabric swatches. 

“You have such nice hips,”  Ristuviel said from around that region, “Certainly no high-waisted gowns, they would ruin your silhouette. But certainly something with an off-shoulder neckline.” For about half an hour, the two of them debated the merits of dalmatian sleeves, v-waistlines, and many other terms that Pat was clueless about, but when they left, she was pretty sure her dress was going to be maroon, and it would have sleeves. Good enough.

So Pat went about her daily schedule. She hung out with the hobbits, had an awkward meal with Boromir, Gimli and Legolas where all she did was try to keep the tension between the two non-humans to a minimum, and took a lovely, long walk with Boromir where they tentatively held hands. Pat had never blushed so much in her life. 

Finally, the day before the Festival, Undiom summoned her to Ristuviel’s chambers again to look at the finished product. It was a gorgeous, deep berry gown with gold accents, three quarter sleeves, and an off-shoulder neckline as promised. They insisted she try it on immediately, and when she did, it fit like a glove. Apparently all those measurements were indeed necessary. Pat smoother her hands down the soft bodice, marvelling at the way it hugged her curves without suffocating, emphasising all the right places. She looked  _ hot. _ Beautiful, like a princess from a fairytale. (Which, technically, she was living, just a very long, extended one.) The only thing that ruined it was her hair, which was up in a haphazard bun slanting sideways off her head. Even her glasses matched, the dark brown frames seeming almost the same color as the fabric.

“Well, come show us!” Undiom called from the other side of the curtain. Pat smiled nervously and stepped out from behind it. “Oh,” her face went soft and adoring, “It’s beautiful. Look at you, my friend.”

Ristuviel agreed, “A sight fit for the stars. My job is done.” Then she bustled forwards, tugging on hems, feeling the seams, checking for tightness or uncomfortable lines. “It fits okay?”

Pat swallowed around the lump in her throat, “It fits perfectly. It’s wonderful, I can’t thank you enough.”

Ristuviel smiled kindly, “Think nothing of it.” She hesitated, straightening the neckline, “There is little I can do for you as you leave. I can do this now.” Behind her, Undiom smiled sadly at the mention of the quest. 

“Thanks,” Pat said awkwardly. It was kind of weird how nobody thought she was coming back, like she was going to die on this quest. Which was getting kind of annoying to be honest, even though they were probably right. Maybe this was just an elf thing? Undiom had acted like she was dying last month when she’d caught a cold, falling all over herself to bundle Pat into bed, practically hand-feeding her tea and soup until she’d gotten better. How fragile did elves think humans were?

“I’ll come by tomorrow to help you with your hair,” Undiom said as Pat shuffled back behind the curtain to change again. “And I have some jewelry for you to wear as well.” Once again, Pat was overwhelmed by the kindness these people had shown her. They were really going so far out of their way to help her, and not even for a big important thing, just so she could look nice at a party. Before she emerged from the curtain, Pat wiped away some of the tears that had welled up. “Thank you again,” she said to Ristuviel, “Really.” The seamstress pulled her into a tight hug, “It’s no problem, really,” she said into her hair.

Pat pretty much floated through the rest of the day, riding the high of her dress, the care that went into it, and yeah, how fucking hot she was going to look tomorrow night.

The next morning dawned clear and cold, a fine layer of frost on the plants that lasted well into the day. She ran the hobbits at lunch and listened as they chattered excitedly about that evening’s festival. They talked her into walking around the city, looking at all the different booths and entertainers in the streets, and people gathering for the day’s festivities. Pat bought a new hairpin, brass flowers set with red colored glass to match her gown, and quite a few snacks to munch on as they walked, as did the hobbits. When they finally wandered back to the Homely House, she ran into Undiom, who promptly directed her into her room and in front of the vanity.

“We’ll get this mess of hair into something proper for once,” she said, already sectioning off bits and weaving them together. Pat’s hair had grown long enough to brush her shoulder blades, so at least she had something to work with. She watched as Undiom took her usual half-up look (if she bothered with that at all) into something that even the most high-class lady would wear. It was braided back, in elegant twists that shone in the light. She also lined Pat’s eyes with kohl, dusted her lids with dark powder and patted her cheeks with blush. Looking at herself in the mirror, Pat could easily recognise herself, but a different version. 

This Pat went to elegant balls, danced gracefully, and charmed everyone she met. Big dark eyes looked out from behind her large round frames, her hair shone gold in the candlelight. She looked mysterious and beautiful, like someone off a YA novel cover.  _ Hell yeah, _ she thought,  _ I can work with this. _

Undiom gave her ruby earrings to slide into her lobes, and they caught the light wonderfully every time she moved her head. Her new hairpin matched wonderfully with her dress and the silk slippers were comfortable enough that she’d have no problem wearing them all night. 

Armed with the knowledge that she looked  _ fuckin hot _ and a light cloak, she walked arm in arm with Undiom to the large garden where the party was set to start. And hot damn, she was gonna have a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a hoe for banter as flirting guys. Also, I was SO close to having them kiss here, but I'm holding it off for just a little while longer. It's coming, I swear. Also maroon is a super pretty color and goes great with gold so that's what Pat's wearing.


End file.
